


Our Forgotten Love

by Kayzo



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Amnesia, Bottom Eggsy, Happy Ending, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, Top Harry, slight D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayzo/pseuds/Kayzo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's suffering from some minor memory troubles; his complete absence of memory of his boyfriend Eggsy. It's all a bit awkward. He's already planning to get something extravagant for their anniversary to make up for it--when he remembers when it is, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Hart Lives

In the immediate aftermath of saving the world, it’s to be expected that checking a dead man’s feed would not be top priority. After collecting Roxy and making the appropriate calls to get the important people of the world out of the textbook evil lair in the mountains, Merlin set the plane down in Kingsman’s airfield and the three responsible for saving the world decided to take the rest of the day off. The mess would still be there when they woke up. For the moment the thing they needed most was sleep.

Eggsy ends up at Harry’s place instead of his. Might make him a bit of a dick, not going straight to checking up on his mum and Dais, but Roxy’d already let him know that they are as okay as they can be. He wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes open long enough to answer any of the questions Mum’s bound to have anyway, and he looks enough like death warmed over with bullet bruises and blood to not want to add bags under his eyes to the mix.

So Eggsy finds himself falling face first into the guest bed he slept in not two full days ago, expecting to pass right the fuck out. Of course that means he can’t even get his eyes to close. It’s eerie, hasn’t sunk in all the way that Harry’s gone and the world is properly falling apart in mourning. Eggsy saw the damn man take a bullet to the face like it was coming at his own head, then the cracked blue sky from where he’d fallen. But he didn’t see the blood, didn’t see the body. Makes it somehow less real.

Feels more like when he’d been waiting at Harry’s after their fight, when Harry’d been on the long flight to Kansas and the hours leading up to the sermon (if it could be called that). He’d spent the first few hours absolutely distraught, practicing apologies better than the half finished one he’d gotten out before Harry left only to be struck through with indignant anger, so he spent another few practicing how to demand apologies from Harry. It got easier to wait when he broke onto the laptop with the live feed (Harry’s password is—was?—Mr. Pickles, so much for super spy). Then everything had just moved so fast after that.

It’s probably still open. The feed. Right there on the laptop, playing an endless sky riddled with cracks. Now that he’s got it in his head, it’s not going anywhere. His leg starts to bounce, even if getting up’s the last thing he wants to do. But there’s no way he’s falling asleep any time soon without first shooting the flame of hope. Bad word choice.

Eggsy’s sigh is world-weary and bone deep. Nothing to do for it. He drags himself out of bed, still fully dressed, and shuffles into the office. Flipping up the screen and taking it out of hibernation (Eggsy would marvel at the battery power if he hadn’t almost tripped over the cord). The feed’s still playing through the cracked lens. Half a hospital bed in view, body clearly occupying it.

Eggsy scrubs his eyes. Does it again for good measure. Then he screams a little bit and calls Merlin.


	2. I'll be Here

When he wakes up, he’s not sure where he is. Which seems rather fitting, as he’s not so sure _who_ he is either. Third thought, the confusion will probably go away when the splitting headache does—that’s what happened last time.

Oh. There was a last time. Doesn’t help much, but good to know it’s not his first time dealing with amnesia.

“Harry!” His awareness is dragged outwards. To the boy at his bedside who jumps up, visitor’s chair scratching the linoleum floor, doing nothing for his head.

“Thank god, Haz. You’re not allowed to do that again, okay?” He babbles, whole frame falling loose, a tightly held cord finally released.

Harry makes to answer, because the name’s too right to be anything but his, but he’s not even licked his dry lips when his young friend is shaking his head.

“No way Haz, don’t try it—wait right here, I gotta get a nurse or something.” He takes two steps and he’s at the door, lingering for a long moment before all but running down the hall to get a professional. It’s sweet.

No sooner has Harry finished going over a mental catalogue of his injuries as best he can around the pounding head (faded bruises in the shape of bullets, sharp pain in his neck, almost fully healed scratches, tender ribs, and of course, whatever it is causing him this damn headache and severely hindering the vision in his left eye—which he thinks he’s being drugged to high heaven for because everything feels a bit fuzzy up there) when a doctor comes in, the boy trailing behind like a lost puppy.

“Hello Galahad, good to see you back in the land of the living.” She smiles. Meant for him but she doesn’t look up from her clipboard. It’s the clipboard that catches his interest. It’s embossed with a large gold K in a circle and _oh_.

Oh, now this makes a lot more sense. Harry looks at the woman again and he remembers her now, Dr. Emily Briere, codenamed something asinine that Harry can’t remember and knows has nothing to do with his earlier confusion. Then he looks to the boy, but there’s no information there, no flood of past interactions or names and dates. For all intensive purposes, he’s got no idea who the lad is.

“Dr. Briere,” Harry says, voice a bit rough. The boy scrambles for a cup, handing him a bit of water before Harry gets the notion to ask after it. It’s difficult even taking that small sip without upsetting his head more, but the tilt of the bed stops him from pouring it all over himself, at least. He nods in thanks and the boy smiles wide.

Harry turns back to his physician, “How long?”

“You were out a little less than a month,” she drags her pen over the screen, “and I’ll tell you more after you’ve answered my questions.”

And so Harry’s made to go over his aches and pains, rating them by discomfort, saying a tongue twister or two to gauge speech, answering basic questions like name and birthday, asked the last thing he remembers.

“I remember looking down the barrel of a gun, the sound of it going off and the lovely feeling of it hitting. Can’t for the life of me remember who or why, but I’m sure they had their reasons.” Harry gives a wiry smile.

“Quite.” Emily’s deadpan is, as always, much appreciated.

“Now, it may be rude of me to just mention it,” Harry says, looking over to the lad who’s been actively quite since Emily started her questioning, looking straight at Harry like he’s a mirage, “but I haven’t the foggiest idea of who you are.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, Harry witnesses a man breaking. Eyes gone wide and fractured, mouth agape, then snapping shut with an audible click. The boy looks a half step from tears and _oh_ Harry might not feel anything towards the reaction now outside of detached sympathy, but when he remembers, he’s sure he’ll feel just terrible about this. They’re obviously very close, if the lad’s so affected.

“Now, now,” Harry’s comforting was never much good, “I’m sure I’ll remember you soon enough, Dear.”

“Eggsy.” The boy makes eye contact then his gaze skitters away, too much a swirl of emotion for Harry to read, before glancing back, determined, “M’names Eggsy.”

“Eggsy,” Harry amends, tasting it on his tongue but it only serves to make him slightly hungry which he decides Eggsy’s better off not knowing.

Briere looks between the two, “well, good to know that you’ve suffered memory loss. Might have been better to’ve told me first thing.” She gives Harry a very pointed look, “I’ll go get Merlin, he’ll be best for figuring out to what point your memories go, but for now, what’s the date?”

“Well that’s hardly fair, I’ve been out of it for about a month, excuse me for not knowing the day.” Harry smiles blandly, looking at Eggsy after his—admittedly dry—jab, but Eggsy’s staring at his hands, still looking halfway devastated.

Harry clears his throat, “I’d wager August, 2015.”

“Well you’re not _all_ scrambled then,” Emily jots something down, “it’s September 21 st 2015.”

“It is hard to keep track when I keep going into comas.” Harry can’t stop the quip, because, if his memory’s not failing him, he was in one not too long ago after Professor Arnold’s head blew off. He’d nothing to do with that at least, that was a coincidence. Blowing someone’s head off would be a bit much.

“Gives us something to do, at least.” Briere nods, leaving with purposeful steps. Here heels click down the hall. It isn’t until the sound’s faint that Eggsy looks at him.

“So ya know when it is, but you don’ remember me ‘t all?” Eggsy asks, looking like he might want an actual answer.

“Oh dear boy, I’m sure I’ll remember soon enough, nothing to get worked up about.” Harry pats Eggy’s hand where it’s white knuckling the bed sheet. His attempt at comfort doesn’t seem to hit the mark. Or even the outer edges of the target.

“’S just,” Eggsy holds his gaze, “we was—we had a fight Haz, a big one,” his hand tenses under Harry’s,  “and then you walked right out, leavin’ me with the damn stuffed dog. I was ready to torch the damn thing, I was right pissed at you just leavin’ like that before we’d even made up proper.”

“Oh my.” Harry says, very inelegantly, because it’s the only thing that comes to mind. Apparently Eggsy is more than just important to him—they’re living together for Christ sake. And having domestic disputes over god knows what. Perhaps about whose turn it is to take out the trash. More likely about Harry going off and getting himself blown up too often for Kingsman.

Speaking of though, how in the world is Eggsy even here? Is he Kingsman? If he’s not Kingsman, did Harry tell him about all this? Lord, Chester will pitch a fit if he learns Harry’s told his—his _something_ about Kingsman and brought him in. although, obviously he can’t be blamed for Eggsy being here, the coma covers his bases rather nicely. But then who did? Percival? Bors? Merlin? _Belvidere_? 

Now is certainly not the time to ask these questions, and Eggsy least of all the person to ask. Harry gives a side glance at Eggsy’s left hand. Oh thank god. At least he hasn’t forgotten getting married.

“Well,” Harry says after the silence has dragged too long and its clear Eggsy’s thoughts are dark, “I do hope you didn’t end up hurting Mr. Pickles.”

“God, of course you remember the damn dog.” Eggsy barks out a laugh and Harry can see a glimmer of the man he must have fallen for.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Pickles and I have been through a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah Haz, yer creepy stuffed pet is okay.”

“Very good then.” Harry tries to stifle a yawn, “now I know I’ve been sleeping too much already, but if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking a nap now.”

“No worries, Harry,” then, quieter, hesitant, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Harry’s sure he says something mildly approving, but he’s already halfway to sleep, just with it enough to feel the warm hand that envelops his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments appreciated!


	3. Caught Up

True to his word, Eggsy’s there when he wakes, although the lad’s asleep himself, stuffed haphazardly in the visitors chair in what has got to be the most uncomfortable position.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Harry turns his head slowly, headache not as slept off as he’d like. Waiting for one wrong movement to overwhelm him.

“Merlin.”

“I guess I should be thankful you remember me then.”

Harry snorts, “I remembered Dr. Briere and she’s only been here a few years. You’ve been stuck with me a lot longer than that.”

“Yes, well, with the way Eggsy went on, I couldn’t be sure.”

“Mh, I am sorry about that.” Harry glances at the sleeping boy, idly wondering how long he’s supposed to have known him for, “he doesn’t look even a bit familiar.”

Merlin sighs, “Well, it was recent enough to understand forgetting. But I do hope you remember the lad soon, he’s the reason you’re back. Saw you’re feed open in your office, and alerted us that you’d been found alive. Hasn’t left your side if he can help it, that one.” Merlin takes a moment “We all thought you’d died for a bit there.”

“You know I’m allergic to death, Merlin, gives me hives.” Harry says, their longstanding joke never as funny when he’s been in elongated life threatening situations. But it’s almost a reflex by this point, and always gives Harry a sense of order in the chaos, a bit of stability. He hopes it does the same for Merlin.

How did Eggsy see his feed on his office computer? He rarely works from home unless it’s paperwork, and he never brings up his own feed of all things. There goes the potential (and already weak) theories of roommates or whirlwind romance. Eggsy knowing his passwords speaks of a level of trust that far exceeds either option. Committed relationship then?

“Harry!” a young woman makes a hasty entry, stopping at Merlin’s side, “Eggsy told me you were awake.”

“Lancelot, you should be in debrief.” Merlin says, giving her a look Harry has been graced with a few too many times.

“Lancelot?” Harry takes a moment, “Oh that’s right, you’re Percival’s candidate, aren’t you? Something Morton. You’ll forgive me for not remembering, I’ve a bit of a headache.” Harry smiles. It’s good they finally have a female candidate—or rather agent, despite the none too subtle stink Chester brought up when they were going over potential candidates. He’s missed all of the cadet training, such a shame, it’s usually quite fun.

“You remember _Roxy_?” Eggsy blurts, apparently not as asleep as either man had thought. Harry hopes he wasn’t awake too long. With the way he’s taking everything, hearing that Harry has absolutely no feeling of familiarity for him won’t go over well.

“You’ve had two talks with her, tops! And I was there for both of ‘um!” he looks distressed, and from what little Harry’s gathered about their relationship so far, he can’t say he blames him. Roxy goes towards him, hands hovering, it’s clear to anyone that Eggsy doesn’t _want_ to be calmed down. He’d feeling hurt and he doesn’t seem inclined to hide it.

“Her file, dear boy,” Harry says in his best attempt at comfort which he’s already quite proven is shit, “I read her file before she was proposed. If I’ve ever met the young woman before this moment I don’t remember a bit of it.”

Eggsy seems comforted by his words (he’s getting the hang of this), if only marginally. Enough to lose some of his tension and unfurl from the chair. Roxy sees it to, hand finding his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Well then, there’s an indicator of Harry and Eggsy’s past together, the swirl of jealously at a simple friendly touch. He’d really rather Roxy remove her hand now; but if he can’t even remember Eggsy he can’t go around telling people to bugger off. He wouldn’t anyway, of course. Gentlemen are never inclined towards indecent possessive behavior. If their partner is unwilling, anyway.

It doesn’t take Merlin’s high level of perception to see that the situation is fast deteriorating, and Harry can see his friend has questions; “Roxy, why don’t you and Eggsy get something to eat, freshen up a bit. Harry’s just going to answer a few questions and he’ll go right back to sleep.”

Harry snorts, Merlin doesn’t even have the care to mask the threat in his voice. It’d almost be sweet if Harry wasn’t one-hundred percent sure Merlin would follow through on that threat. He’s never actually be strapped to a hospital bed, but there have been some close calls, especially when they’d both been younger. Back when Merlin had hair.

Roxy nods, straightening out, all her movement a practiced elegance that speaks to her station. Eggsy, reluctant, tight back undercut by movements that hold their own grace. But it speaks of dancing more than poise, interesting and unexpected with his shorts jacket and jeans. Eggsy follows after her, willing enough when it’s clear that there’s no other real option though he does stop to give Harry a backwards glance from the door like he had the last time Harry remembers him leaving to get Dr. Briere. Like he thinks Harry will disappear before he comes back. It wouldn’t surprise Harry if Eggsy has legitimate cause to worry from past experience.

Merlin and Harry stay silent for a while longer, all too aware of the thinness of the walls. Roxy and Eggsy must too, because the only thing they hear from the hall is shuffling footsteps until Roxy says “Oh come on Eggsy” and then they’re gone.

“What’s the last you remember then?” Merlin asks, taking the vacated seat.

“I remember being shot—but not by who or why. I think I was in a fight beforehand.” He answers, but knows that’s not really want Merlin wants when Dr. Briere’s most likely already told him, “Last mission I recall in full detail was that little thing in Barcelona. Once I returned, you told me Lancelot—James—was dead.

“It’s strange, I know time passed after that, I know I was put into a coma after confronting Professor Arnold. But I only vaguely remember the confrontation itself. I remember…eating McDonalds?” He also remembers staring up at a cloudless sky, of pain ripping through his temple, and an inner panic at failing someone. But none of that seems right to tell Merlin. Best saved for the Kingsman mandated physiatrist meetings he’ll be having for the next few months, at the very least.  

Merlin crack a half smile, “it was in the line of duty.”

“I don’t get paid enough.”

Neither makes a sound but the atmosphere dissolves into one of schoolboys, a laugh in the air and Harry feels in his bones that everything will work out.

“Well, are you going to fill me in, or are we going to let my mind catch up?”

Merlin takes a moment before responding, “A lot of it actually happened after you were presumed dead, so I’ll give you the basics. As for Eggsy and the things you’ve forgotten there, I think it best they work themselves out—besides, I wouldn’t know the half of it.”

Harry files that in the back of his mind to dissect later, preferably outside of the lovely impersonal atmosphere of the hospital and back at his home with a nice brandy. Although with a head wound the brandy will probably be the last thing he’s allowed.

“You went and got shot in the head,” Merlin gives him a look, “but not before getting a confession out of one Mr. Richmond Valentine, who was giving away free SIM cards that had a rage frequency of sorts. Lancelot—Roxy—and I were in HQ then, and Eggsy joined us, after acquiring Valentine’s bunker address. You should really ask him where he got it,” Merlin gives a smile that has too many hints of hardness. This bout of consciousness is full of more half-hints than Harry could have imagined. He should ask after this ‘side trip’ of Eggsy’s at first opportunity.

“Eggsy met up with us at the Mansion and we were off. Lancelot went up in the lovely star wars contraption-”

“Oh, with the—” Harry makes a hand gesture vague enough to get across the ballooning bits of the clunky machine, that they all had agreed looked like upside-down sagging balls. Whoever said the knights were sophisticated was lying through their teeth.

“—Yes, that one—to shoot down one of Valentine’s satellites while Eggsy and I went to the bunker. After a bit of heroics and a lot of blown up heads, we stopped Valentine and called it a day.”

“Excuse me?”

Merlin makes a gesture behind his right ear and Harry gets a flash of a scar, a memory, “Valentine put microchips in his followers to keep track of them. They had a self-destruct function that literally blew people’s minds.” Harry gave a light chuckle, Merlin was obviously proud of that one.

“So those Valentine deemed important that agreed with him are now dead. And he was able to get off the signal for a few minutes before we were able to stop him. But with how effective his signal was, that was enough. The world was dropped into chaos. Kingman has been trying to pick up the pieces; as is every other spy agency that still has a roster to speak of. But the world is bouncing back, as is its habit, a bit longer and a few more knights and I dare say we’ll be back to normal.”

“We lost more knights?” Harry feels his heart constrict. It seems they’d just lost James—well, nine months ago at this point, but still. Even though Kingsman is a high risk job, the reason Kingsman only takes one recruit a cycle is because they only take the best, those most capable of surviving. Otherwise there’d be a lot more body bags and recruitment would be an almost constant. Not good if a secret organization wants to stay secret. Harry’s been getting thrown into comas like an idiot while his colleagues and friends have had to deal with the fallout, and apparently not all made it through the trial. 

Merlin’s face turns sour, “not the best time to speak of this, Harry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. There’s enough on your plate now. Besides, we’re making it work, and your boy Eggsy’s really picking up the slack.”

Okay, so Eggsy is in Kingsman, that’s a relief at least. Chester won’t be able to bitch as much—not that that ever stops him. Is he tech? Doesn’t seem the type—although the younger generation has it almost as instinct. Maybe a handler? Harry’s not actually sure the hiring process for handlers, Medical, or technology persons, Merlin and his counterparts for the other departments handle that. Knights are urged to focus on missions and staying in top shape, so he doesn’t feel too back about it, but he files that away to ask after later.

“Now,” Merlin says, a deliberate change of tone to a brighter one, “I do believe I said you’d be going back to sleep.”

Harry holds back the urge to whine like a petulant child, as is his engrained response when Merlin goes mother hen on him. But the mother henning is rather soothing for them both, a rhythm forged and tested by time, so the least he can do is acquiescence. There’s a reason for Merlin’s worry, Harry was shot in the head after all.

 He’s been given more than enough to mull over to fill his unconscious hours, and now that it’s been mentioned, he is a bit tired, loathe as he is to admit it.

“I would love to, but someone keeps chattering.” Harry quips.

“Don’t be blaming me, you old bastard.” Merlin gives a half smile, heading to the door and flipping the lights. No sooner has he done that then Harry’s eyes feel heavy and he succumbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the comments, they're a bright spot in my day and it's nice to know people like it!


	4. Homeward bound

Harry doesn’t see much of Eggsy after that, though he’s told often (by Roxy, Merlin, Emily, assorted nurses and passersby he doesn’t think he’s ever met before) that the boy is at his side every chance he gets—it just so happens that Harry’s usually unconscious during those time and Eggsy wouldn’t hear of waking him. A fact Mr. Miyato, Harry’s primary RN, laments often about to Harry, as if he should know when Eggsy’s in his room and wake himself up so Eggsy doesn’t have to. Harry wonders if Eggsy’s turning sad, soulful eyes on everyone that enters, looking like a military wife standing vigil, waiting for her husband’s return from war. Mr. Miyato is usually not so... forthright. 

Even though he hasn’t seen him, he has learned a lot about his boy. Eggsy’s a knight. No one will tell Harry his code name, looking away with guilty expressions when he even hints at wanting to know. But then again, with knights dead he hasn’t been told about yet, he understands the hesitance not to let anything ‘traumatizing’ slip. Not that _he_ thinks it will be traumatizing. Although it’s not often a knight dies, and never have multiple died at the same time, but Harry’s more aware than most how easy death comes, of its natural place in life.

Eggsy took gymnastics when he was younger, Harry learns from Roxy when he makes a comment about how Eggsy moves. She also tells him that she doesn’t think Eggsy’s afraid of anything.

“Except losing you, of course, and his family, but that’s normal stuff. I’m talking spiders or snakes or—heights.”

“Some would call those things normal fears too.”

Roxy blinks owlishly at him, “I suppose so.”

Merlin lets slip that Eggsy can’t sleep on a plane to save his life—even though Kingsman jets are the height of comfort—but he thinks it has more to do with Eggsy not wanting to miss a moment of wherever his next mission takes him than an actual inability. He also said that Eggsy looked quite good in the suit Harry had made for him. He’d spent most of the rest of that afternoon trying to picture Eggsy out of his street clothes and in a suit of his design.

It must have been pinstripe, a dark navy or maybe grey. Black would have been much too dark. He couldn’t decide on a tie, got caught up with not knowing what was in stock at the store, then got caught up berating himself for even worrying about it. Eggsy already had the bloody suit, he already had a tie, it didn’t matter what they had in stock or what Harry thought up unless he was planning on gifting the boy another one. (Okay, so he’d already decided on navy with the red and white stripes, it would look fetching with a navy suit—he’s decided navy over grey, but now he’s unsure about pinstripe or solid)

He also learns something about himself too. He’s been having—dreams. Memories more likely. He’s in a church, everyone has a horrid accept and there’s a lot of yelling until it all falls away into white noise and Harry’s watching himself fight like an outside observer. It only happens, he’s been told rather precisely by Mr. Miyato, when Eggsy leaves. Harry secretly thinks it might just be that having someone in the room helps, but after waking from a memory to see Merlin firmly entrenched in paperwork, obviously having been there for a while, the theory forms a chasm.

He’s _also_ learned his bit of concrete information about the world after Valentine’s attack (his visitors have been making small talk—Roxy, nurses, doctors—or demanding he go right back to sleep—Merlin, and Eggsy he thinks, if he were awake to see him—without even a hint of current world standings). It comes in the form of a briefing on Eggsy’s current mission from none other than Merlin. Which makes Harry think that Merlin’s leaving things out for his ‘constitutions’ sake, but the thought doesn’t stop him from enjoying the update.

Right now he’s off on a mission in North Korea. Unfortunately Valentine hadn’t decided to ‘save’ any of those in power within the totalitarian government, so none of their heads exploded, but the violence caused by the sim cards resulted in enough deaths in high enough places to spark the beginnings of a shift in power. Eggsy’s been sent in to help that shift along.

A more direct course of action than Kingsman has ever really taken before, but then again, this is the first time Kingsman has been able to actually help change the situation in N. Korea. With so many human rights violations taking place for so long, no one in Kingsman raised a hand against it. It helps that Kingsman’s own Kim Hwa-Soo, a North Korean defector, is running point on the mission. It’s wrong to say that Valentine’s plan had any good in it, but at least something good is coming out of it.

It’s been two and a half weeks since he first woke up—although it feels like longer, confined to his bed for a week and a half and only allowed to roam the halls this last week. To top off his frustration at the physical limitations, there’s the fact that he remembers nothing more than he did after seeing Dr. Briere’s Kingsman clipboard.

In some respects, its good he hasn’t seen Eggsy, the poor boy’s crushed expression would bring lesser men to their knees—and is probably why everyone keeps harassing him, with tales of Eggsy’s devotion. Realistically, he (and presumably Eggsy) knows that these things take time, but it doesn’t do anything for the guilt Harry’s steadfastly trying to ignore whenever he hears Eggsy’s name.

But all hope is not lost—today’s the day. The day he’d finally being released from Medical. It’s a god send, really. There’s nothing like sleeping in one’s own bed and being surrounded by one’s own things and Harry plans to do just that. The familiar surrounds will be a welcome reprieve, and the perfect atmosphere to mull over thoughts that have been left to percolate.

A nod to Elliot who’s minding the storefront, getting a pleased smile in return, and Harry’s walking out to the Kingsman taxi with a bit of a spring in his step.  He’s still got a constant ache in his head, but it’s more than manageable with the promise of freedom as a reward (and the narcotics. Okay, probably mostly the narcotics, freedom doesn’t stop a migraine). He’s to check in with Merlin ever few hours for the first 24—barring sleep—but the prognosis is positive.

The cab ride passes quickly, faster than he’d expect for how much he’s anticipating his arrival. Walking through the door is like coming home. Well, it literally is, but Harry hasn’t felt this kind of draw to the old townhouse in quite some time and it leaves him nostalgic. The first thing he notices though, is that it’s not quite how he left it. For a disorienting moment, it’s as if everything has been shifted just a smidge to the left—everything looks like it belongs, but it’s not… typical. Having lived alone for so long, Harry’s used to things being in their place from years of habitual living.

There are trainers in the foyer with _wings_ on them for god’s sake. _Definitely Eggsy’s_ the thought comes with a snort, natural as anything. Harry’s stopped short by it. Was that a memory? Or just an educated guess? Harry looks at the shoes a bit more intently, letting the door swing shut behind him. Maybe they do look a bit familiar. Or is he forcing it, knowing they should be familiar, but not feeling any genuine sense of knowing? Harry sighs, he’s going to give himself a completely normal headache if he keeps this up.

Harry leaves them as they are, sprawled to the left of the entryway, and heads further into his house. There’s little notes of use all around, since he’s looking for them; a new (very cheap) brand of tea in the cupboard, a jacket slung over the back of the couch, dog toys in a little basket in the corner of the living room, the dining chair to the left of the table head not pushed in like the rest, an unfamiliar toothbrush in the bath. His office is the only place that speaks of disuse, dark and dusty, laptop closed but on.

The overwhelming atmosphere is still Harry, seeped into the walls, but accents of Eggsy’s touch linger. Is Harry really such an old bastard that he didn’t let Eggsy feel welcome enough to change things as he pleases? Granted, they seem to be new enough (and Harry unconscious enough) that interior decorating might not have come up.

The patter of clawed paws across hardwood catches Harry’s attention and for a wild moment he expects Mr. Pickles to trot around the corner. Instead a little pug turns the corner from the kitchen and barrels into Harry’s legs.

“Hello you,” Harry bends down to pet the pup that obviously knows him (or is a terrible judge of character), “what have we here, hm?” Harry pulls off a roll of paper that’s attached to the pug’s collar.

_Hello Harry,_

_This is JB, I heard you were coming home today and I head out on a mission this afternoon, so instead of dropping him at the kennel in Kingsman, I figured you could use the company until Eggsy gets back. His food and treats are in the cupboard under the kitchen island. Don’t spoil him too much, Eggsy’s convinced he’s getting a bit of chub._

_Wish you a speedy recovery._

_Best,  
Roxy_

Harry finishes the note and resumes his absentminded petting with a bit more vigor, “JB, is it? What does that stand for now? Jack Bauer?” the pug continues his happy panting, “No, probably something dull like James Bond, is it?”

Harry stands, lamenting the cracking of his knees, “I’ve hardly cared for a dog in ages,” Harry glances in the direction of the downstairs half bath, “but then again, I suppose I’ve taken care of you before, when Eggsy’s been away, have I? I’m a bit confused with the timeline still.” JB trots after him as Harry goes to fill his water dish (how had he missed that?), “you like me well enough, so we’ll get along swimmingly, I’m sure.”

After bringing JB on a short walk, fetching him his dinner, and a too yearning look to the liqueur cabinet he can’t enjoy while on the medicine for his headaches, Harry makes some tea and settles into his overstuffed armchair.

Directly across from him is a gaudy jacket, gold plaques on a black base draped over the couch back. It’s dreadful. But, if he’s not mistaken, _he_ was the one to purchase it. He can recall talking to a sales person who looked not yet out of their diapers dressed in what must be considered ‘fashionable’ for the younger crowd. He had to look down at the note in his hand to remember what to ask for at least thrice, the penmanship not horrible, but when the sales boy brought out _that_ Harry was sure there had been a mistake.

So Harry paid a ridiculous amount for something so…interesting, and left. He doesn’t remember giving it to Eggsy, which is a shame, he thinks Eggsy must have smiled sunnily. Although maybe not, since he knew Harry was getting it (there’s no way Harry would have thought of purchasing it himself, and the slip of paper had to have been Eggsy’s handwriting). Either way, he must really be gone over the boy to result in _that_ purchase.

Of course, that train of thought, as they all seem to do of late, fills Harry’s mind with thoughts of Eggsy, of who Eggsy could possibly _be_ to him. He hasn’t got a lot to work with, but what he does speaks to a relationship Harry hasn’t engaged in since he was around Eggsy’s age. Back when he was younger and believed in things like soulmates and undying love and hadn’t yet seen the capabilities of man.

Then there’s _that._ Eggsy has to be half his age, at least. But, if it didn’t bother Harry or Eggsy before, there’s no point in worrying about it now. They’ve probably had enough talks about age already. With the way their age difference makes Harry feel a little unsure, hesitant, he’s sure Eggsy’s set him down more than once to give him his thoughts on the situation, Harry will just have to wait to remember them all. Maybe that’s even the topic of the row Eggsy spoke of in the infirmary.

That’s what all this is; a waiting game. Harry may seem the proper gentleman (because he is, of course) but patience has never been a virtue of his. Why else would he be constantly late for meetings if not to avoid waiting for anyone else?

So, he has a relationship of some sort with Eggsy. The boy lives with him, despite the fact that they haven’t know each other for very long—less than a year Harry guesses, since he doesn’t think he has any gaps in memory up until after James’ death. Eggsy’s obviously in love with him, and Harry hopes he’s just as infatuated with Eggsy, such devotion is hard to come by and he’d like to think he wouldn’t lead Eggsy on if the feelings weren’t mutual. With the way the boy smiles, and the care he’s already shown Harry from their small interaction thus far, Harry’s not too worried about it. It doesn’t hurt that the boy is undeniably handsome. Harry’s probably seen him out of those street clothes before too. That must be a sight.

Harry sighs, the throb in his temple picking up tempo. That’s what he gets for being a lecherous old man. A light dinner and off to bed then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! :)


	5. Rest Up

It sounded so easy, and with the tiredness that is his constant companion, it should be. Four hours after his ‘bed time’ Harry’s still up, staring at the ceiling and wishing the comforts of home would drag him under. When they eventually do (or rather, when his body’s had enough and he passes out), it’s nothing like the restful sleep he’s expecting. He wakes up through the night, flashes of a fight staying in his mind before dissolving into nothing.

It leaves him restless and agitated. What he remembers of the violence certainly isn’t the worst he’s seen (or done for that matter), but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth and he has no idea why. By the time it’s morning, it’s as if he’s been in a fight—he feels sore and weary, headache not giving him a moments respite.

He’s sluggish through the day and doesn’t get to Kingsman until late morning. He answers most questions in grunts and doesn’t wait for Merlin to tell him to leave to get out. JB is a comfort, at least, petting the dog and hearing his little pleased wheezes and snuffles doesn’t irritate his head and gives him something mindless to do.

The second and third night are the same. Half-sleep that’s full of flashes of a church and fighting that leave him less rested than if he’d not slept at all. Harry resorts to taking a nap of all things in the afternoon as if he’s back in primary, finally tired enough to have a dreamless sleep.

The fourth night, leaving nothing to chance, Harry decides a sleeping pill or two won’t be remiss. It’s never good to take something with a still healing head wound—although the physical is scaring over nice enough—though slowly—Dr. Briere told him in no uncertain terms that he’s still healing and should treat himself as such—but surly no sleep is even worse?

The sleeping pills must work. Harry doesn’t hear the door open late that night—or rather early the next morning. He doesn’t hear JB bound down the stairs to his human or the weary mumbled ‘hello’ as bags and coat hit the floor barely inside the door.

Doesn’t wake up when Eggsy drags himself up the stairs or shuffles on autopilot to the master bedroom. Or when Eggsy falls on the bed next to him still half dressed, asleep before his head hits the pillow. Harry doesn’t notice any of it. Just as Eggsy doesn’t notice the other body in the bed. 

* * *

 

Waking up well rested in his own bed for the first time since being back is more surprising than it should be. Although most of the surprise could be accounted for by the arm slung over his middle and the body nestled against him. Harry sits up (slowly, head still apt to flights of fancy at one wrong move), Eggsy’s arm slides down with the movement and he snuffs once into the covers, like JB does, but doesn’t move further.

Harry has to have done this before, woken up to Eggsy. But perhaps never like this, with his hair in stray points from gel left in, shirt half unbuttoned but not fully pulled out of his pants, belt undone but not off with his slacks and socks still on. Harry frowns. He knows those kinds of missions.

It feels nice, he decides after a moment, nice to not be alone, nice to know someone cares. Hopefully that’s what Eggsy feels too, even after missions that make you question everything. It’s a little bemusing to think this is something he gets on a regular basis, and equal parts frustrating that it doesn’t feel even a bit familiar.

Harry slides out of bed, careful not to disturb Eggsy who probably hasn’t had much sleep. Standing next to the bed, watching as Eggsy curls into Harry’s warm spot like a cat, Harry’s struck with a fierce desire to remember. To remember ever little detail that’s brought him to this point in his life. So much must have happened in such a small amount of time.

Frustrated at his own inability, Harry tries to force the issue, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on Eggsy’s head like he wants to. It doesn’t spark anything, doesn’t feel familiar, but it does feel nice— _right_. That’s something at least.

Slipping on his robe, Harry heads downstairs, greeted by JB who runs back and forth between him and the back door. Harry lets the pup out with a chuckle, as he’s done every morning since he’s been back in his own home, watching from the doorway as JB does is business and trots back to him at a more sedate pace, marveling at the dogs inability to use the doggie door that Harry’s had since Mr. Pickles came to live with him.

Harry feeds JB and adds more water into his bowl as he waits for the kettle to boil. Taking one of Eggsy’s teas for the hell of it (it’s in a bag, so worse than can happen is he drinks warm water, right?), he sets the bag in his mug, pours the water on top and warms his hands as it steeps.

Dr. Briere had informed him that there wouldn’t be a chance he’d be going on any missions for at least another three months. Harry knew it would be a while, head wounds are always tricky and Kingsman never send out agents that aren’t at one hundred percent if it can be helped. There may be a lot going on in the world since Valentine’s attack, but Harry will do more good behind the lines than in front of them for the moment.

The first time he was injured after starting at Kingsman, he was chomping at the bit to be declared fit for active duty. Anything to be back in the fray. Now, it doesn’t seem too horrible to wait. He’ll certainly get back out there, and there’s nothing quite like the high of a mission well done, but there’ll be enough to go around by the time he’s better. And he’s never had someone to be home with—or come home to—before, the novelty of it makes the wait less a chore and more of an adventure.

It’s not until the cup is almost cold that Harry comes out of his thoughts. Not the time to get maudlin, Hart, best keep those hands busy.

And so it is that when Eggsy descends the stairs at ten that there’s almost a full breakfast waiting for him on the dining room table. 

“Ah, Eggsy,” Harry says from the kitchen, noticing him still at the entryway, dressed in ‘casual’ clothes, “Just in time. How do you take your eggs?” he takes the rashers off heat and goes for the eggs. He doesn’t really wait for an answer before cracking four eggs into the pan, more of an empty question when he’ll just make them over easy anyway. Since it’s probably not the first time Harry’s made Eggsy breakfast, he’s not too worried about offending him.

Harry glances back over to Eggsy and finds himself being stared at quite intently, “something wrong, dear boy?”

Eggsy’s jaw closes with a little click and he shakes his head, drifting over to the seat left of the head that Harry’s set up for him. Harry blames it on fatigue and finishes up the eggs. He doles them out onto their plates, places the rashers with it. Rolls, butter, tea, and beans are on the table, tomatoes and mushrooms already on the plate. There was no sausage in the refrigerator, but considering how he had everything else, he counts himself lucky.

Harry discards the apron and brings the plates to the table. Eggsy’s hovering over his chair, looking anxious and fidgety, jaw shut tight. Harry sets down the plates and straightens up, raising one eyebrow in question. Eggsy makes a little noise in the back of his throat and then Harry finds himself in a hug, Eggsy’s head pressed to his chest and arms almost too tight around his waist.

Getting over his momentary shock, Harry wraps his arms around Eggsy’s shoulders, gentle but solid, reassuring in action the way he’d never been with words. Eggsy takes a shuttering breath against him and Harry unconsciously shushes him, letting one hand pet through Eggsy’s hair in mindless soothing. They stay there long enough that the eggs are at risk of being cold. Eggsy lets out one more loud breath before he pulls back and away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, hands shoved into his pockets, “not very gentlemanly of me, is it?”

Eggsy’s eyes are red and puffy, but lacking wetness. It occurs to Harry that Eggsy’s already had too many missions like the last—too many that made him question humanity as a whole, draining and exhausting of mind and spirit. He thinks, perhaps, that many of them weren’t calling missions but instead life. It occurs to Harry in startling clarity that he knows nothing about Eggsy, nothing at all.

“My dear boy, there’s nothing further from the truth.”

Eggsy stares at him for a moment, and it’s almost too much, what he sees in those tired eyes that still hold so much hope and love. Then Eggsy turns away, clearing his throat and sitting with a rushed clash of noise.

“So, what have you made then?” Eggsy gazes at the spread, “looks right proper.”

Harry gives a small smile and sits. 

* * *

 

“Hello Merlin,” Harry greets, heading into the tech wizard’s office to see if he can get his kingsman file privileges extended (they’re all treating him like he’s set to break apart at any moment. It might be sweet if it weren’t so frustrating), Eggsy on his heels.

“Harry.” Merlin glances up from his tablet, “Eggsy? You’ve got mandatory rest, you know.”

Eggsy crosses his arms, the same half embarrassed, half defiant face he’d put on when Harry said he’d be fine going to Kingsman alone, “someone’s gotta watch out for ‘im, okay?”

“Don’t I know it,” Merlin gives a huff before pointing to the screen in front of them where the feed shows a busy Parisian street, “Lancelot is in the middle of things now, an easy recon job. A few more days before she comes back, but today is confirming the schedule of one Mr. Lawrence DeMont, a suspected arms dealer who’s having a bit too much fun selling to fascist groups in Greece.”

“Nothin’ she can’t handle.” Eggsy says, posture relaxing, “If I’m lucky she’ll bring me a magnet or something for Dais.”

“’Dais’?” Harry can’t keep the interest off his face. Eggsy’s not been terribly forthright with information about himself, and Harry feels awkward asking after things he’s probably already been told, reminding Eggsy that the Harry who’s with him isn’t the one he really wants.

Eggsy nods, “Daisy. My kid sister. Don’t know that you ever met her proper,” he pulls out his phone, showing Harry a picture of an adorable little girl, “had a right scare with V-day, but she’s getting better. So’s Mum.”

“She’s precious.”

Eggsy grins, “Don’t I know it.”

Harry pulls himself away. He could get lost in that smile, but with Merlin in the room it doesn’t seem proper. Professionalism and all that, even if the likelihood of Merlin _not_ knowing their relationship is less than one percent. But it’s good to keep up a veneer less Chester hears of it, not that Merlin would be the one telling.

“Who was my candidate for Lancelot then?” Harry turns to Merlin, “obviously they didn’t make it, but how’d they do? I can’t remember any of it.”

The silence is dense. Merlin clears his throat.

“It’s me, Harry,” Eggsy looks away, “you proposed me.”

He doesn’t know what to do with that information, if he’s honest. Eggsy was his candidate for the Lancelot position? When in the world did they start their relationship then? How unethical for Harry to engage in such behavior with a proposal. He fears, for a wild second, that Eggsy’s only with him because of the job offer, thinking he owes Harry somehow. It’s brushed away in a moment by any of the many little things Eggsy does to show he cares, truly and deeply, but still…

“Yeah, figure I wasn’t your first choice or nothing.” Eggsy takes his disbelieving look the wrong way, “we was late to it, so you had to have someone else picked out.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort, just—surprised. And how are you…?”

Merlin jumps in to the stilted conversation from the doorway—when did he go from his desk to the door?—“Now would be a perfect time to ask about that side trip I mentioned a while ago. And rest assured, Eggsy is a Kingsman of his own merit.” And he ducks out. Coward. He’s had to have seen worse that a lovers spat that revolves around forgotten information.

“Side trip?” Eggsy asks, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, stretching the fabric. He looks less hurt at least, a forced effort of understanding—trying to exude that he’s not hurt or frustrated by Harry but instead the situation. It would probably work on anyone else, and if Harry wasn’t feeling a bit guilty about it, even though he knows—rationally—that he shouldn’t.

Harry might also be a bit of a coward too, because he takes the distraction and runs with it, “Merlin told me that after I was shot,”—they both steadfastly ignore Eggsy’s slight flinch—“you joined Roxy and him to stop Valentine, but you first acquired Valentine’s bunker address.”

Eggsy’s eyes go wide for a moment, “yeah, that.” He coughs, “I don’t know how pleased you’re gonna be with me about this, bruv, fair warning.”

“Eggsy, I assure you, nothing you say will anger me, as long as you don’t call me ‘bruv’ again.”

Eggsy lip twitches and that’s a good start. They make their way to one of the many libraries in Kingsman for the conversation at Eggsy’s request (“Merlin needs his office back, and I don’t want this on camera, there are less in the library. I’ve checked.”).

Eggsy clears his throat, sitting haphazardly in a reading chair, leaving Harry to sit across from him on a table top or stand awkwardly in Psychology section. He chooses to sit.

“So, after you…” he clears his throat again not looking at Harry and playing with a loose string on his jacket, “I came back to Kingsman and had a chat with Arthur” a half shrug, “he offered me a drink in your memory and—”

“That old codger bent the rules?” Harry couldn’t stop from interjecting. It’s been a sore spot between them for a while now, Chester’s inability to get out of the past and Harry’s ‘desire to meddle with what works’.

Eggsy glanced at him, “He said somethin’ similar. But as he was pourin’ I saw the little scar on—” Eggsy motions to just behind his right ear, “don’t know if you remember, but that’s where Valentine implanted the chips to keep track of his followers. So I distracted him and switched our drinks, since he never liked me I knew it was nothin’ good.

“We had the drinks and then he pulls out a pen—” Harry gives a start and Eggsy finally looks him full on, “Yeah. You showed me before—so I knew what it was. He starts monologue-ing like a proper Bond Villain, demanding I join or die bullshit.

“Then he pulled the damn trigger and I watched him choke on his own blood.”

Eggsy shifts, and Harry realizes he may be staring too intently at the boy, “and then he got a text with the countdown from Valentine with the address so I went and found Rox and Merlin. We stopped ‘im and that sorta worked as my alternate final test.” A shrug.

“You killed Arthur.”

Eggsy winces, “technically the bastard killed himself.” He clears his throat, “I don’t regret it. Do the same thing again.”

“No—no I don’t have any issues with it Eggsy dear,” Harry feels his mind rearrange with the new information, “it’s just… a bit to take in.” Chester was a bastard (as were all the Kingsman in their own ways, Harry very much included), no doubt, but one that forsook Kingsman? It’ll take some getting used too. Although it does validate the distaste Harry’s always had for the man, which is a nice plus.

Eggsy frowns, “Knew this coulda waited. Want some water or something?”

“I’m fine, really, Eggsy, just give an old man a minute.”

Eggsy’s frown shifts to a scowl, “you ain’t that old.”

Harry can’t stop his smile.


	6. Heart of Gold

The day goes quickly after that, though it helps that they got to Kingsman barely before noon with the late breakfast they had. Harry spends most of it going through mission files (that he’s been allowed) and catching up on the state of the world post Valentine debacle as he has been before Eggsy’s arrival back from his mission. Though he has a lot more to do if he wants to be truly ‘caught up’. Eggsy alternates between napping, getting Harry tea to go with his medication, and telling Harry he should be napping while steadfastly ignoring any remark Harry makes about him going home to rest and “surely that couch cannot be comfortable, Eggsy.”

Soon enough it’s time to head home and Harry has to go about waking Eggsy from one of his naps that tipped the scale into sleep two hours ago. He probably shouldn’t have let him sleep so long if he’s to have any rest tonight, but it’s hard not to when Eggsy’s clearly so exhausted.

“Eggsy,” Harry whispers, accompanying a squeeze to his shoulder, “time to get up now.”

Eggsy wakes up softly, a rarity in their line of work, eyes blinking open, still holding that sleepy clouding as they look up at him.

“ _Harry_.” It comes on an exhale, sounding almost reverent. Two blinks later and Harry’s almost sure he imagined it, Eggsy’s eyes clear and as awake as they had been at breakfast.

“Harry? What time is it?” he sits up and Harry shuffles to stand straight so they don’t knock into each other. He hadn’t noticed how close he was.

“About six. We should get going.”

“Christ,” Eggsy stands up, “didn’t mean to sleep so long, shoulda woke me up.” He pulls out his phone, “I’m gonna order food, yeah? Don’t feel like cooking and you better not either.”

“Eggsy, I haven’t forgotten how to cook, as I’ve shown.” But he is mentally exhausted, eyes tired and headache doing its lovely little throbbing thing.

Eggsy waves him off, already talking with someone, rattling off dishes with purpose. They’re all Indian dishes and Harry hopes Eggsy’s ordered lamb curry, it’s his favorite.

After the tube drops them in the tailor shop, they take a cab to what’s presumably the restaurant that Eggsy ordered from, picking up a delicious smelling bag and, after a shuffle for the check (which Harry wins with a sharp look), walking the block and a half left to their house.

“Hey boy,” Eggsy crouches down as JB runs over to him the moment the door opens, flipping on his stomach at his feet for belly rubs which Eggsy gives with gusto.

“Oh JB—” Harry’s aghast, “we didn’t come to take him out during the day, he might have—”

Eggsy’s laugh cuts him off, “He uses the doggie door just fine,” motions with his head to it, “no need to worry.”

“Then why was he adamant I take him out every morning?” and evening, and midday. God he’s been played by a dog, hasn’t he?

Eggsy shrugs, “He likes an audience.”

“That seems like a learned behavior.”

Eggsy sputters, face gone red and Harry can’t help the laugh that follows. 

* * *

Eggsy did get lamb curry, Harry’s happy to see, and some of his other favorite dishes. He shouldn’t be surprised, given their relationship, but as he has no memory of it, it still is when container after container has another well-loved food inside.

“Just got the stuff we got last time.” Eggsy says, scrutinizing Harry as he looks over the offerings, “Hope that’s cool.”

“Perfect.”

Dinner’s a quite affair, both too hungry for idle chat. Once they’ve finished and packed away the (admittedly small) leftovers, they gravitate to the living room.

“How about a movie then?” Harry asks, already ducking down to the cabinet that houses his little collection of DVDs.

Eggsy clears his throat, “maybe I should get goin’, Haz.”

Harry can feel his eyebrows go into his hairline, “beg pardon?”

“’Should go to me mum’s new place,” Eggsy swallows, fiddling with his jacket zipper, “pro’ly don’t want me hanging around all the time anyway, give you some time t’ yourself.” He gives a half smile that is more grimace than anything.

“Eggsy,” Harry says sharply drawing Eggsy’s eyes to him from where they’ve wandered, “I have been quite enjoying your company and the last thing I want to do is make you feel unwelcome. I understand if you want to leave, but know that I would rather have you here.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy asks, wet around the edges.

“Of course.”

The silence shifts into something more comfortable, and Harry wonders if that’s what kept Eggsy quite through their meal, the worry that Harry might throw him out of his own home. However new their move-in together was prior to this whole memory trouble, Eggsy lives here now. And Harry would miss him, truth be told. Eggsy adds…so much.

“Now,” Harry turns back to the DVDs, “have you ever seen _My Fair Lady_?”

Eggsy gives a laugh, “yeah, I have. Never seen _Pretty Woman_ though.”

“Well aren’t you full of surprises,” Harry says to the TV, pulling out _Pretty Woman_ and putting it in.

* * *

“You totally thought I was a hooker!” Eggsy blurts out half way through the movie. It has the distinct feeling of a statement that he’d been sitting on since Julia Roberts’ character came on the screen.

“Excuse me?”

“Ah—well I guess you wouldn’t remember it,” Eggsy loses his edge of teasing, reminding them both that although this is Harry, he’s not the Harry Eggsy really wants, “but, you, ah, sort of compared our situation to…” he makes a gesture at the screen, cheeks gone pink.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure I would have paid an obscene amount for your company.”

Eggsy sputters, face aflame. Harry reigns in his laughter, instead smirking demurely at his… well, he still doesn’t quite know what they are—partners? Boyfriends? God, it’s like he’s back in school. Maybe he should pass a note, ask Eggsy to circle his preferred label.

“Watch the damn movie, pervert.” Eggsy mumbles, eyes back on the screen. 

* * *

“That was good,” Eggsy says when the credits role, “bit soppy, but good. Don’t see much of you in Edward though.”

“You don’t think I’d spoil you to the moon?” Harry asks, genuinely curious, leaning closer on the couch.

Eggsy laughs, “Nawh, you’ve done plen’y of that already, more than you know. Talkin’ about destroying that company. You never would’ve thought of that. You’re too much about helpin’ people.”

Harry lets his boy’s view of him sink in for a moment. Eggsy has more faith in Harry’s ability to do what’s right that he thinks he has in himself. After so many years in Kingsman, after being the cause of so many deaths, seeing the world in black and white is impossible. Seeing himself as anything other than a muddled, dark grey is impossible. Eggsy sees something in him, something that Harry want to live up to.

“Thank you Eggsy.” He says, truly touched, “I can find something of Vivian in you though. I can’t speak for the sex acts,” he gets a sheepish smile from Eggsy, “but you have the same heart.”

“’Hooker with a heart of gold’ is it?”

“Something along those lines.”

“Hey, Harry?” Eggsy says after a moment of silence, “Speaking of getting in people’s beds, wanna say sorry for last night. I was right tired after that mission and, well, I’ve been sleeping innit since, you know—since,” Eggsy clears his throat, “and for a bit there we didn’t think you’d make it, so I’d—it’s silly to say—but it was just better, somehow, bein’ where you’d been after everything that happened. But—that’s no excuse or nothin’, I shouldn’ta just—”

Harry’s let Eggsy go on longer than enough, especially if he thinks his presence is still unwelcome. First in their house and now in their bed; it makes Harry wonder if Eggsy’s always been this insecure in their relationship, if Harry’s ever done anything to make him worry about his position in Harry’s life, his heart.

“Eggsy, hush, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Harry pulls the boy into a hug and he just _melts_ in Harry’s arms, “I slept wonderfully last night, thanks to you, not despite of. I would like to continue, if you’re comfortable with it.”—even when he’s missing half his memories, half the Harry that Eggsy needs—“I think we’ll both sleep better for it.” Harry pulls back, cupping Eggsy’s face in his hands as Eggsy searches his eyes.

“Yeah?” he sounds needy and yearning and Harry wants to do nothing more in this moment than kiss any doubt of acquiescence away. Even if he never remembers, he thinks he’ll fall in love with Eggsy all over again with no trouble—he’s already half way there.

“Of course, my dear boy.”

When they settle down in bed that night, Harry knows he made the right decision. Eggsy’s calmer than he’s been half the day and Harry’s comfortable. It feels like coming home more than walking in the door had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! they're a great motivator :)  
> unrelated, but i've come to see that the title is very self-important, which is equal parts amusing and misleading, all things considered


	7. Homemaker

The next morning is much the same waking up, comfortable and warm, wrapped up in each other. He hadn’t had a flash of the church (in Kentucky, his mind supplies), or the massacre within, even without any sleeping aid, aside from Eggsy. Harry plants a kiss on Eggsy’s head as he slips out of bed and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. When he’s done with his shower though, Eggsy’s nowhere to be found.

Harry finds a note next to a hot cup of tea—his brand with the tea ball, splash of milk and touch of sugar and everything. Eggsy left for his mother’s, then he’ll go straight to Kingsman, debriefing and evaluations promising a full day for the boy. As he munches on leftovers from the night before, Harry wonders if he should head in too, though there’s not much to do there that he can’t access on his home computer with its secure and encrypted link to Kingsman.

Besides, he’s man enough to admit he mostly wants to go see Eggsy, and the last thing his boy needs is a distraction.

Office it is then.

It’s still dark and neglected as it was when Harry made his first sweep of the house days ago—having chosen to go into Kingsman more often than not just to get out of the house instead of using the perfectly serviceable office space, even if going into Kingsman left him less productive than he’d like. And with the phycologist meetings he’s had at Kingsman, it seemed easier to just stay there before coming back to let JB out (though he now knows the rascal would have been fine without).

Cleaning will give him something to do as much as sitting in front of a screen reading—and a clean environment makes for a clean mind or something or other—so he starts with pulling back the drapes.

The natural light immediately brightens the room—though it does highlight the undusted nature of it. Nothing else was in this state of neglect when he returned, despite the fact that Eggsy had been away regularly. Has Eggsy been cleaning the house? Or has his regular housekeeping service continued but with instructions to leave this room as is?

A question for Eggsy another time. Harry pops into the linen closet and grabs a duster and spray, giving the room a quick but thorough dusting. His papers are where he left them on the desk—everywhere. Perhaps what he should have done was spend his first days cleaning up the mess of paperwork he somehow always has, but his aversion to paperwork had not been at all damaged by the memory troubles.

His laptop is shut but on, plugged in—as it has to be with how he’s killed the battery by doing exactly that; keeping it plugged in all the time. If he opens it now he’ll get sucked into mission files or worse—just go on YouTube and watch cat videos—as opposed to doing anything remotely productive.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, paperwork’s his best option.

Most of it is easy enough, paperwork associated with missions he remembers (and should have gotten through long ago). There’s a file on a Gary Unwin that, when he repeats the name under his breath, brings a picture of Eggsy to his mind. He opens it up and low and behold Eggsy’s looking back at him, though not the boy he’s already used to seeing with soft eyes and face that always shows Harry his heart. Instead this Eggsy—Gary Unwin—has hard eyes and a set expression that warns people away, accentuated by the crew cut and military fatigues. He looks sharper, like broken glass, jagged and waiting to cut.

Harry touches the picture lightly, wondering how this could possibly be the same boy that’s in his life now. He hopes he had something to do with the transformation.

Maybe it’s a breach of privacy to read his file, but arguably he’s already done it and Eggsy hasn’t left him, so it can’t be that bad. He’s twenty four. Lord, Harry’s a cradle robber. At least that’s better than it could be, right? And there’s no way he’s being used for his money when Eggsy makes just as much as a knight. And it’s not like he’s using Eggsy as a trophy boy toy—Eggsy would never stand for it and Harry’s not famous and doesn’t have anyone to show off _to_ , even if he does feel like preening a little over the fact that Eggsy’s chosen to be with him.

Seeing his father’s name is a bit of a jolt; Lee Unwin, the man who sacrificed himself for Harry, Merlin, and their last Lancelot, James. Now knowing it, he can see more than a little of Lee in Eggsy, regardless of their time together being much too short. Harry smiles down at the file, Lee would be proud of Eggsy, of how well he’s doing.

In the lull of that thought, staring at the hard young man pictured, Harry almost has a heart palpitation— _he’s dating Lee’s son_.

“Oh god.” Harry sets the file down, physically pushing it further away on his desk. Does Eggsy know? Harry hopes to high heaven he does, if Harry hasn’t told he might be the actual shittiest boyfriend ever.

This would, of course, be when a familiar call of ‘Harry!’ comes from the front foyer. Harry stands so quickly his chair falls back, a clatter that has Eggsy running to him, stopped just outside the office threshold, staring at Harry with wide eyes that Harry can tell are looking for a wound, a reason.

“Didn’t mean to scare you or nothing, just came back for a nosh.” Eggsy gives a forced little laugh, but it’s clear he’s worried.

Harry’s continued silence can’t be helping. But he hasn’t a clue of what to say, something Eggsy appears to cause frequently, Harry rounds the desk and brings Eggsy into his arms, a rather strong hug, that, after a moment, Eggsy allows to relieve his tension, tentatively hugging back. They stay like that for a long moment before Harry heaves a large sigh, slowly pulling back.

“There’s something I have to tell you, Eggsy.”

Eggsy tenses up all over again, “what is it?”

Harry takes Eggsy’s hand, bringing him over to the couch in the living room, a more neutral, calming space than the office Eggsy’d clearly been avoiding.

“Haz, you’re starting to scare me.”

Harry musters a calming smile though he feels anything but inside, and it’s obvious Eggsy can see right through him.

“Just out with it,” Eggsy demands, hand squeezing Harry’s—hard, “you remember something? You remember our fight—?”

“No, no—I came across a file,” Harry clears his throat, “yours. And well—I knew your father.”

Eggsy deflated with such rapidity that Harry’s startled. He pulls his hand from Harry’s grip only to hit him on the shoulder.

“God Harry, you had me worried.”

“No—It’s more than that—he—”

“Yeah, I know Haz, he died and when he did he saved your life and a few others. I know the whole bit. It’s okay, I know it weren’t your fault and such, regardless of you tryin to take the blame all the time for shit’s not your fault.”

“Oh well, good.” Harry feels a bit at a loss, “you’re sure? Even though we—”

Eggsy makes a face Harry can’t quite pin down, “whatever stupid thing you’re thinkin, it’s not an issue, really. You think I’d…?” Eggsy gives a half shrug and Harry gets the distinct impression they’re having different conversations, “If I had a problem you’d know it, is all.”

“Well alright then.” Harry gives a smile, “I’m glad to hear that.”

Eggsy sends him a lopsided grin in return, “ready for some lunch then?”

Eggsy’d apparently known Harry’d get caught up and not prepare anything because when they walk out to the kitchen there’s a bag on the table with delicious smelling take away. Three meals in a row of takeaway can’t be good for either of them, so Harry vaguely vows to make something for dinner that doesn’t come from a box. They eat with light chatter, Eggsy filling up most of their conversation with reports on Daisy and his mother, who are in the process decorating their home, having recently moved into a flat not too far from theirs. Soon enough, Eggsy’s starting to gather up to head back out to Kingsman, his extended lunch extended a bit too long already.

“Oh, I did remember something,” Harry sets his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, “nothing much, mind you, but when I saw your file ‘Gary Unwin’, I knew it was you before I saw the photo.” Saying it out loud, it sounds like such a small thing and Harry speeds to explain why he’s sharing something so mundane, “It’s nothing much, but I will remember everything else. This only proves it more.”

“Good, that’s good.” Eggsy smiles lightly, extracting himself from Harry’s hold and going to the door.

“See you later, Haz.”

“I _distinctly_ remember telling you not to call me that.” The words are out of his mouth before he’s given it a thought, but after it’s out he realizes he _does_ remember. They were on the bullet train to the manor. He doesn’t remember much outside of asking (well, telling if he’s honest) Eggsy to never call him that and Eggsy’s saying ‘Haz’ in a long, drawn out manner before letting the name rest. It’s the first memory that has Eggsy in it, and it feels like a gift.

Eggsy stares at him slack jawed for a moment before breaking out into a huge smile. It’s breathtaking.

“See ya, Harry.”

“Don’t let Merlin keep you too late,” Harry says, moving to the threshold, feeling for a disconcerting moment like a house wife from the fifties, holding the door open to watch Eggsy start off down the street. Eggsy gives a wave in acknowledgement and after a moment Harry realizes he’s kept the door open much too long to be anything other than a love sick fool, so he heads back in the house.

JB almost trips him up the moment he walks towards his office, the little thing, “Now, you got more than enough treats during lunch, JB, we mustn’t tell Eggsy, so please, none of this begging.”

JB whines plaintively and Harry bends down to give him a nice pat, but vows not to be sucked into JBs quest for more food than he needs, he doesn’t want to start a spat with Eggsy. With a final pat, Harry goes back to his office, the pug hot on his heels. He pushes away Eggsy’s file, having had all the revelations he wants in that department for the day, and starts going through other odds and ends that had stacked up. Little things like bills from months prior—all paid through online automatic services, but still needing to be filed and tracked accordingly.

There are a few personal correspondences from friends outside the business; he’s always terribly vague and boring, recounting the ‘tailor’ life, but some of his college mates lead exciting enough lives for the both of them (if his false life were true, that is). He’ll have to come up with a good excuse for the absence, although with Valentine’s destruction still fresh in everyone’s minds he’s sure they’ll let him by lightly. In fact, he should hope his letters still have persons to reach.

He’ll do them later, when the devastation of Valentine’s SIMs don’t feel as raw as the still healing scar on his temple. It is healing nicely enough, once the redness fades it will be just a divot marked with lines of silvery skin. He wonders what Eggsy thinks of it, hasn’t thought to ask when scars are such a part of the job that acquiring them seems so natural. Eggsy doesn’t seem to have any though. He’s still new, still so young, but he doesn’t have any visible scars—then again, Harry’s never had one quite this visible either. Maybe he should wear his hair looser, hide most of it behind soft curls, although styling his loose curls is a lot harder than just gelling everything back with a nice comb.

He should just ask what Eggsy thinks, wondering after it won’t do anything but work him up.

Enough work for the day—he’s recovering from a gunshot to the head so he’s allowed his time off. And with how much time he’s already wasted thinking, it’s clear that he won’t be doing anything too productive with his time.

“Come on JB, we’ll go for a walk.”

JB all but bounds to where his leash is hung, running back and forth between Harry and the coat rack so quick Harry’s afraid he’ll run out of energy before they’re even out of the house. He takes a quick moment to check the refrigerator, determined to make dinner for the two of them tonight, and he can’t do that without the right ingredients.

They’ve got a lot of the makings for risotto, he’ll pick up a nice bottle of white to use in the sauce and accompany the dish. Maybe some scallops to keep it from being too heavy. Add a salad and that’s that. It’s nice to get the chance to really cook, with missions here and there sometimes cropping up at a moment’s notice, cooking falls to the wayside and food ends up going bad in the fridge. Maybe the forced rest does have some fringe benefits.

Harry revises the thought—okay, give it a few days after he’s gone through everything that’s piled up and he’ll be off the walls with not even training at the gym open to him yet. But it’s no use worrying about that when at least for now he’s enjoying it.

The walk with JB is nice, good to get some fresh air outside of the commute to Kingsman and the short walks he usually takes JB on.  They take their time, and the pug sits nicely at store entrances while Harry mulls arounds the aisles. He’ll have to commend Eggsy for his training.

They walk for a couple of hours, and by the time they get back to the house, it’s late enough for Harry to start dinner. Cooking is a relaxing task, familiar motions with controlled elements. The half glass he has while doing it doesn’t hurt anything.

Eggsy comes it looking tired but pleased, “something smells good.”

“Perfect timing, Dearest,” Harry says, leaving the scallops to sear another moment while he plates the risotto and pours Eggsy a generous glass of Moscato.  

“Are you allowed to be havin that?” Eggsy asks, taking the glass and motioning to Harry’s considerably less full one and then looking pointedly at the bottle.

“Its fine, I’ve only been taking ibuprofen today, and some went into the sauce,” Harry brings their plates into the dining room, “but thank you for your concern.”

“Can’t have a glass of wine killing you.” Eggsy half smiles, “not dramatic enough.”

Harry gives a laugh as they take their seats, “True enough.”

Eggsy complements the food and Harry can’t help feeling flattered at the straightforward praise. Soon enough they’re chatting as they eat and Eggsy tells an amusing story about one of Roxy’s missions where she ended up getting invited back to the house she was surveying by the chance timing of going to the bathroom while the target had been there after a few too many vodka drinks. There’s something about women becoming infinitely friendly in the bathroom that confuses and amazes them both. Harry recounts and old mission or two where coincidences of that nature worked in his favor to the amusement of them both. That time he happened across a target’s missing dog and was _actually_ handed the information he needed in gratitude is always good for a laugh.

They’re a few glasses in each and have migrated over to the couch when Harry works up the nerve to ask; “Do you—is this--?” well, he wasn’t going for eloquence apparently. But the hand gesture towards his scar—left temple, large divot where bone was broken and pink puckering where it hasn’t yet turned silvery white—says enough for Eggsy.

“God how could you even think—” Eggsy cuts himself off and apparently he’s not the only one with eloquence issues tonight.

“Harry,” he sounds broken, almost, and it disarms Harry entirely.

Eggsy brings his hand up, hovering over the wound with gentle fingertips, grazing with the lightest touch, “you’re alive, this means you’re alive and I— …and that’s all the matters.” He looks so heartbreakingly fond that Harry feels the fool for even entertaining the thought that Eggsy would care for him less because of it.

Eggsy pulls away, clearing his throat, a light pink on his cheeks, “’side, you’re still attractive as ever. Women love a guy with a scar.”

“I don’t much care what women think.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy says on an exhale, more thought that spoken word.

“Eggsy… Eggsy, let’s go to bed.”

So they do. Nothing untoward happens, both a bit too gone for Harry to be comfortable with it, and Eggsy becoming uncharacteristically distant and hesitant once they get into the bedroom. He hopes it’s simply tiredness and he hasn’t done—or _not_ done—anything to make Eggsy uncomfortable.

They settle in. Eggsy ends up turned towards the wall, facing away from Harry. Harry wants nothing more than to wrap his arm around Eggsy and drag him close. He won’t though, not tonight. It had been going so well, then Eggsy all but shuts him out. Is it that he could forget during dinner that Harry doesn’t remember _them_ , but once silence settles Eggsy can’t ignore that this isn’t the Harry he truly wants?

Harry doesn’t know Eggsy’s mind (would he? If he remembered?), but the thought won’t leave his head. What if he never recovers his memories? It’s something he hasn’t actually given thought to, so sure he’ll get them back. But if he doesn’t. Will Eggsy be able to accept it—accept _him_ , however damaged he is?

Eggsy’s soft, even breathing breaks Harry from his thoughts. Here Eggsy is, saving him without even trying. Harry lets out a deep breath, willing himself to sink further into the mattress. Best to just go to sleep. If Harry sets a light arm around Eggsy’s middle, right as he drifts off—well, they keep waking so entangled that it was bound to happen anyway. It’s the thought of the sleep warm weight of Eggsy against him to look forward to that lets Harry drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoping for snow!! global climate change causing unseasonably warm weather is making me think valentine was really on to something...


	8. Unnecessary Worry

The repeat happens, but not in the way Harry sure either of them want. They do wake up wrapped together, but from the beep of glasses that sets them both on high alert. They’re Eggsy’s, and he fumbles for them on the night stand. After the initial shock of abruptly waking up, Harry lets himself relax, arms heavy around Eggsy’s waist, setting back down around Eggsy as best he can while Eggsy sits up.

“Yeah?” Eggsy greets, sleep still heavy in his voice.

Harry can’t hear Merlin at all, the glasses made with the explicit purpose that only the wearer would be able to hear their handler, but from the way Eggsy goes tense then deflates, Harry knows he’s just been assigned a mission. And if Merlin had contacted them at—he glances at the clock—four in the morning for anything less, he and the tech wizard would be exchanging words about time zones and sleep cycles.

“Can’t anyone—?” Eggsy starts, “But Harry—”

Harry tightens his arms briefly, feeling touched at Eggsy’s concern, even if unnecessary. He presses his forehead to Eggsy’s hip and waits out the conversation. He already know that Eggsy will be leaving—most likely the moment he ends the call.

“Yeah, yeah, okay I’m coming.” A pause. “None of your damn business!” and with that he hangs up the call.

“I suppose you’ll be leaving then?”

Eggsy clears his throat, “yeah, Hyderbad.”

“Enjoy the tea while you’re there.” Harry can feel himself starting to drift back to sleep.

“Harry…” Eggsy squirms, “Harry you gotta let go.” Harry can hear the blush in Eggsy’s tone and he can’t fight a smile.

“Terribly sorry, my dear boy.” His hold wasn’t enough to stop Eggsy from extracting himself, but Harry moves his arms obligingly, shifting more towards his side of the bed to give Eggsy extra room. Once he’s up grabbing clothes and heading to the bathroom, the bed seems to rapidly lose its warmth, faster than logic would dictate.

 When the front door shuts and Eggsy’s off, Harry is suddenly much to awake. The rest of the night is spent tossing and turning, to his utter dismay. The church flashes in his mind every time he closes his eyes. Harry knows it’s a memory, and knows by now that the feeling of being out of control of his actions is legitimate. Valentine lured him to the church in Kentucky and then the SIM card was turned on. He was a lab rat in a test, as unwilling as every other person in the room.

He can’t change it, his actions or anyone else’s, so he tells himself again and again as his mind brings up images of him tearing through the parish, each more gruesome than the last. He’s had lingering reactions like this to missions before, and he always makes his peace with them in time, but only half remembering it is making it hard, making his mind linger on the most graphic of deaths he inflicted.

When morning finally comes, it’s a blessing just to get out of bed, leave the thoughts of the church firmly in the room. A long jog with JB restores his spirits, filling him with enough feeling of productivity to make up for the lack of productive sleep. He throws himself into his work, finishing off the last of the papers and letters that clutter his desk and opens his laptop.

It’s open to a feed, that after a trippy moment of multi-vision, Harry knows is his own. Even though his glasses were roughened up from being shot in the head and all that, the feed is connected to any Kingsman issue glasses he ‘logs onto’ with the rental scanner.

It’s surprising that this had been open all this time—why had it even been opened in the first place? Someone must have left it open, the same someone who opened it in the first place, and Harry’s not in the practice of watching his own feeds.

Eggsy then. But why would it have been left so abruptly? Oh. Well it all seems very obvious now. Eggsy’d practically said he watched it—Harry getting shot. And this was how he figured out Harry was alive, through the feed. Both instances where the open feed and the security risk it represents would be forgotten rather quickly for more important and immediate things.

Like saving Harry’s arse. The thought sets a wiry grin on Harry’s face. Maybe he should watch some of the feed, from before he went to Kentucky, might jog his memory. It would be easier, and then Eggsy wouldn’t keep looking like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop when he thinks Harry can’t see. It accounts for his distance in intimate moments; it must be hard to have someone back, but not fully, to have a whole set of memories with a person that aren’t shared.

But that’s cheating, isn’t it? He’ll only get a voyeurs perspective, won’t know his own thoughts and feelings on what happened. Best not. A thought he’s had far too much of late. If only he could just remember and be done with this mess of half-known things. He wants to be able to hold Eggsy and kiss him and remember every time he’s already done it. Be able to say ‘I love you’ with the weight of all their shared experience.

Because he does. Love him. Wholly and irrevocably. It shouldn’t be so, what with their relationship—for Harry at least—being so very new. But Eggsy inspires love; giving it so freely and deeply without obligation, making Harry want to give just as much back, want to be worth Eggsy’s devotion. And Eggsy deserves all of Harry.

* * *

Eggsy’s been gone for days and each night Harry swears he sleeps worse than the last. Harry continues to attend his meetings with his psychologist, but instead of attempting to remember and talking about what his new limitations are and what that means for his role in Kingsman (which everyone had decided—without talking to Harry of course—would be officially announced once he’s fully healed. Some are already calling him Arthur in the halls though, and Harry’s not too keen on making it permanent just yet. At least he’s already had a talk with Merlin making sure that he won’t be entirely barred from field missions with the title change.), the conversations have changed to revolving almost entirely around Harry’s love life and irrational worry over Eggsy’s current mission. He mentions his dreams offhand on rare occasion, but he knows the trouble there, knows how to deal with it. _This_ , his reaction to Eggsy being gone, he has _no_ idea of how to deal with. Dr. Cynthia O’Conner’s stopped trying to redirect their conversations two days into Eggsy’s mission.

Harry would feel bad about hi-jacking their meetings for his own moping about, but hey, that’s what they’re essentially for, right? He’s just not sure either of them thought his troubles would go this way as opposed to missing memories or the loss of vision in his left eye.  She gives him comforting smiles and they talk about it ad nosium—well Harry does. Cynthia, god bless her, listens with the patience of a goddess.

Merlin’s already banned him from asking after Eggsy, says he’s distracting him and ‘Eggsy’ll be fine, just be patient you git.’ Merlin has started giving him current mission files though, and that’s something at least. Harry likes to think it’s because he’s recovered sufficiently and not just because of how annoying he’s being. Never Eggsy’s mission file, but then, there’d be a conflict of interest, so it’s understandable enough.

He’s had some more time to get to know Roxy, after she’d come back from the mission in France and outside of the walls of Medical. It’s all well and good—and she seems to be a lovely young lady—but she’s nothing like Eggsy. And as it is, everything that’s _not Eggsy_ quickly loses its luster when all Harry can focus on is what— _who_ —is missing. But Roxy is refreshing, and it’s nice to get to know the woman who helped save the world and make Kingsman history as their first female field agent.

It’s one of their (now regular) afternoon tea times that he finally can’t put off talking about Eggsy any longer. Cynthia is wonderful, but she doesn’t _know_ Eggsy. Harry wants someone who knows Eggsy, who will be able to dissuade his (irrational, wholly and truly irrational) fears through firsthand knowledge. Who better than Eggsy’s best mate at Kingsman?

“I know he’s capable, he wouldn’t be Kingsman otherwise, but I can’t help worrying.” It’s discontenting, he’s never worried about another agent like this because they all know the risk and all have the skill to combat them. It’s different with Eggsy though, regardless of how prepared the boy is for trouble, Harry can’t help wanting him back in his sight to protect him—even if he’d be ineffective at it.

“You should watch his footage from Valentine’s bunker, that’ll end any worries you’ve got.” Roxy says, calm as can be with her poodle sitting primly next to her as if she hadn’t just opened Harry’s eyes to the possibility.

“That wouldn’t be cheating.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been avoiding watching any archived footage because I need to remember on my own, but I wouldn’t know about Eggsy’s bit at Valentine’s base, so it wouldn’t be cheating.”

Roxy gives a little laugh, “from how Eggsy talks, I never thought you’d be concerned about _cheating,_ of all things.”

“Normally yes,” Harry gives a wry smile, “but I’m not of the disposition to cheat Eggsy.”

Roxy’s smile goes wide, more genuine than he thinks he’s ever seen from her—both too aware that soon he won’t be Harry at tea time but Arthur, head of Kingsman and her boss (something he doesn’t think bothers Eggsy)—“Good. That’s what he deserves after everything.”

“My dear, it seems we’re in agreement.”

Harry doesn’t dawdle much longer, and Roxy doesn’t keep him, letting him off with a wave and a sly smile that shows Harry exactly why she and Eggsy are such good friends.


	9. Chapter 9

He’s settled in his office, steaming cup of tea and a scone to his left, when he opens up the footage from Eggsy’s time in Valentine’s base. Can’t help laughing when Eggsy calls Merlin his steward. Can’t help smiling when Eggsy gives the directions for a martini to the waiter. Exactly like Harry taught him. The thought gives him pause, but as he tries to chase it, it becomes more indistinct. Harry lets it go, too enraptured in watching Eggsy charm his way to a computer and hack onto the mainframe.

The lad that puts a knife to his neck makes Harry go cold with rage, but before he can get too worked up over _getting_ worked up over something that’s long since passed, Eggsy’s downing his opponent and _jumping_ on the second story banister with grace that belies his gymnastics background.

He’s a joy to watch, amazing fetes while fighting a barrage of guards. Harry has to rewind in places and play black to follow the movement through the first person perspective that the glasses afford, and some he still doesn’t really understand, unless Eggsy can move in ways Harry doesn’t think are actually possible.

Oh but then he scales a _wall_. And suggests flipping the kill switch in the implants.  And decided to do a deadly dance with a woman with prosthetic legs that Harry vaguely remembers (that’s hard to forget, even if he’s been hit in the head a few too many times). And then uses her leg to do a javelin toss into Valentine’s back. From both Eggsy and Valentine’s words, it’s clear that Valentine was the one to shoot Harry. Which doesn’t seem right—wasn’t Valentine squeamish? Then again, that might be why he’s still alive at all.

Eggsy’s beautiful through it all. Absolutely beautiful. His grace and abilities are fantastic. Even if he can’t see Eggsy himself, every movement he makes shows it to be true, and Harry feels a rush of adrenaline and a rush of pride because this boy—this beautiful, capable, amazing boy—is his.

The rush dies rather quickly when Eggsy goes to the room of, what was her name, Tilde? Harry shuts down that particular feed, not wanting to watch any more. Of course, Eggsy had thought Harry was dead at this point. And there’s always a rush of adrenaline after a mission—especially one of this magnitude, and the princess had been more than willing.

Still, he feels a bit hurt by it, somehow. Not that he has any right to judge how Eggsy handles grief. This is a terrible note to end on, he feels robbed of the high of Eggsy’s victory. Of his skill in motion.

Flipping through different feeds, rather bereft, Harry stumbles across Chester King’s, inactive since his death of course, but it gives Harry the idea to watch the late Arthur’s demise—to watch Eggsy best the man that tried to kill him.

And so he does. He switches over to the compound security cameras, Chester had never been good about keeping his glasses on and Harry’s not going to bother looking for something that probably doesn’t exist. It’s easy enough to get to the right date and time, matching up what he’s learned of the timeline of V-day and his own almost death.

The three cameras in Arthur’s office giving Harry three distinct shots. One a direct view of Eggsy’s face and Chester’s profile. Another shows Eggsy’s profile and Chester’s back, and the camera at the door giving Chester’s front and Eggsy’s other side, though too far to be much good. Playing them simultaneously is a bit strenuous on his one remaining sighted eye, but Harry has a feeling it’ll be worth it. Harry backs it up a little more, from before Eggsy enters—who is he to deny the setting of the scene?

Chester’s sitting at the table head, decanter out. He looks tired. Eggsy comes in in a flourish pushing the two doors open as one, visibly upset.

“Arthur, Harry is dead.”

“ _Galahad_ is dead.” Chester corrects, calm all the more obvious for Eggsy’s upset. “Hence we have just drunk a toast to him.”

“Well then you know what that psycho's doing! How many people in the world have got those SIM cards?” Eggsy’s frantic, but his actions are controlled, corralled in a way he has never been with Harry, “Valentine can send a signal to any of them— _all_ of them. If they all go down the same time, then…” The reality of the threat dawns over him as he speaks it, and Harry marvels at Eggsy’s ability to take such a burden on his shoulders on the eve of Harry’s ‘death’.

“Indeed,” Chester nods slightly, the distance between them acting as a magnifier for all that makes them different—young, old, low class, high class, angry and upset, calm and unruffled, “and thanks to Galahad recordings we have Valentine's confession. The intelligence has been passed on to the relevant authorities.

“Our work is complete. And a most distinguished legacy for our fallen friend it is too.”

“And that's it?” He’s bewildered, broken. Harry’s reminded of the boy at his bedside when he woke, drawn and weary but so, so happy to see _Harry_ of all people. This is what Eggsy had been before, before he knew that Harry had survived, when he thought Harry had been gone forever.

“Come sit down, boy,” Chester motions to the chair to his right and Eggsy is quick to take it, sitting with a lack of finesse that Harry can tell grates on Chester almost as much as it grates on Harry to hear Chester call Eggsy boy, “This is an 1815 Napoleonic brandy; we only drink it when we lose a Kingsman.” Eggsy looks at it hard, as if the brandy is the final confirmation of Harry’s death he neither wanted nor needed.

“Galahad was very fond of you.” Eggsy turns sharply to Chester and Harry marvels at how _Chester_ knew they were together. How in the world did he find out? Harry harbors no illusions, telling him would have been a danger to Eggsy, especially as he was a recruit. How many time had Harry and Chester sat at that very table, playing a mental game of chess as they ate a meal; Chester looking for cracks in Harry’s armor. How pleased he must have been to find Eggsy—or was he disappointed that Harry had sunk so far in his eyes?

“And on this occasion, I think it is acceptable for us...” he smiles slightly, a small thing that Harry can barely make out on camera three, “to bend the rules a little.” He pours two glasses.

It’s amazing, Harry thinks, that he can spot the exact moment Eggsy figures it out, he’s so enraptured that he doesn’t even notice Chester pour some of the poison in Eggsy’s glass. Eggsy’s tell isn’t to tense, but relax—the emotional overload that lead to energy with no outlet completely vanishes. His body, it’s the picture of calm, of acceptance. It’s a man who knows exactly what he’s going to do. It’s entrancing.

Eggsy leans forward on the table, points to the portraits on the wall in front of him, “These are all Kingsmen?”

“Yes, our founding members.”

The instant Chester turns away, Eggsy is switching their glasses in a practiced, silent movement that Harry would be hard pressed to replicate. Even the liquid is a placid line in the glass when Chester turns back. If he hadn’t watched him do it, Harry would have been none the wiser. Eggsy, lovely Eggsy that talks fondly of his family and doesn’t admonish JB nearly enough when he jumps on the bed, pulled one over on the head of an international spy organization—a man who had been lying to said organization with undisputed success for longer than anyone would care to admit.

“I want you to join me in a toast.” They raise their glasses.

“To Galahad.” Chester toasts, Eggsy following the salutation a beat later. Harry supposes he’s always been _Harry_ to Eggsy, rarely Galahad.

“Harry said you don't like to break the rules often.” He looks at Chester, assessing, “Why now?”

“You're very good, Eggsy.” Harry doesn’t have to see it to know that Chester’s smile is rancid, “Perhaps I'll make you my proposal for Galahad's position. Provided we can see eye to eye on certain political matters.”

He dips his hand into his inner breast pocket “Can you guess...” he pulls out the pen “what this is?” Harry feels his blood run cold, like it had with the lad that held the knife to Eggsy throat. Even though he knows— _knows_ —that Eggsy is okay and Chester did not succeed in the attempt, seeing Eggsy threatened in Kingsman headquarters itself, a place where he should be the safest, is hard to take.

“I don't have to. Harry showed me it. You click it, I die.” Eggsy plays his part perfectly, helpless anger shining in his eyes, looking for all the world like he would kill Chester, given half a chance. A chance that Chester doesn’t know he already took. “I thought that brandy tasted a bit shit.”

“Bravo.” The condescending tone drips from that one word, as if congratulating a dull animal for managing to shit outside. Harry bristles more than Eggsy does on screen at it.

“Valentine won you over somehow.”

“Once he explained, I understood.” Chester goes on, an expose into Valentine’s beliefs, but Harry barely hears, eyes rapt to Eggsy’s face—on the set expression and steel that falls into his form when the relaxed act is no longer necessary. Besides, Chester’s rant is useless, whatever he says, it will never justify condemning so many innocents to a brutal death.

“And he gets to pick and choose who gets culled, does he? All his rich mates, they get to live. And anyone he thinks is worth saving, he's keeping them safe. Whether they agree with him or not.” Distain drips from each word, as if Eggsy can scarcely believe someone to be so conceited.

“And you, Eggsy.” Chester’s words make them both—Eggsy and Harry—stop short, focusing fully on Chester, “In Harry's honor, I am inviting you to be part of a new world. It's time to make your decision.” Harry is amazed. It’s one thing to know that Chester knew of Harry and Eggsy’s involvement, another entirely to see Chester try and use Harry’s memory—Eggsy’s _love_ —to get Eggsy to agree to the death of millions.

“I would rather be with Harry. Thanks.”

Harry’s overwhelmed. He pauses the feed, needing a moment to mentally process it, _I’d rather be with Harry_ on deafening repeat in his head. The swell of pride mixing with simmering lust. God, but does Harry want Eggsy in this moment. Wants Eggsy in his arms, wants to kiss him, shower him with praise, be with him—let Eggsy _be_ with Harry.

His glasses beep.

“Eggsy’s just gotten home, Harry,” Merlin says, “I thought you’d left as you were _supposed to_ , but clearly not. Your boy is asking after you in a right frenzy, thinking you’ve gone and gotten yourself shot again. I’ve half a mind to take a shot myself, do you have any idea what time it is?”

Harry doesn’t. The clock on his desk reads midnight.

Harry has to lick his lips and wet his throat before he can answer Merlin, and even then his voice comes out dry; “and what are _you_ doing here then, if it’s so late?”

Merlin scoffs, and Harry pays him half an ear; he’ll feel bad about it tomorrow, half ignoring his oldest and dearest friend, but he can’t help if his eyes keeps going to Eggsy on the screen, paused on Eggsy, defiant, riveting.

“I happen to have an agent in New York where it is currently seven at night. We can’t all work in our time zone, Harry.”

“Convenient excuse.”

Merlin’s huff of a laugh crosses the line, “get going.”

“Very well. Don’t say I never did anything for you.” Harry cuts the line, taking the glasses from his face and setting them on the desk.

One more moment though, one more moment here, watching this. Watching what Eggsy did in Harry’s name.

The footage resumes and Harry focuses on the screen that best shows Eggsy’s face.

“So be it.” Chester intones, pulling down the lever to activate the poison in the pen. Harry has to ignore the rush of irrational anger at Chester for even trying to hurt Eggsy, even though he didn’t succeed, the attempt is more than enough to make Harry wish he could let Chester know exactly what a mistake he made, attempting to hurt his boy.

Eggsy doesn’t seem particularly vindictive or gleeful, watching Chester choke on his own blood as the poison gets to work. In fact, he’s absolutely blank faced.

“The problem with us common types is that we’re light fingered. Kingsman's taught me a lot, but sleight of hand...I had that down already.”

His tone is matter of fact. Harry imagines that makes it all the worse for Chester, someone who sees class distinctions as always in the favor of the upper class. That it wasn’t Kingsman but Eggsy’s learned experience from his time in the estates that lead to Chester’s death must have been a ruthless realization. Poetic, if Harry were apt to think in those terms (he is).

“You dirty little fucking prick.” Chester gets out, and Harry’s pleased to note it’s hard for him to say, closing in on death.

Harry’s fascinated—what was going on in Eggsy’s head? He follows Chester as he slumps and no—he’s not expressionless at all. Eggsy’s eyes are hard, hard as diamonds and just as unforgiving, more like the man Harry saw the picture of in Gary Unwin’s file, a man who has nothing to lose and nothing to gain, than the man he’s come to love.

Chester falls to the desk, killed by his bias. Eggsy wastes no time in marveling at the death of a king, an empire, grabbing a pen knife and sinking it into Chester’s neck. What he’s doing is mostly obscured by the camera angle and Eggsy’s hand, but the second camera shows him pulling out a chip—Valentine’s chip.

Eggsy’s head turns as Chester’s phone lights up, and whatever he finds on the screen—Valentine’s bunker address assuredly—send him out of the room, phone in one hand, dead man’s chip in the other.

Harry sits back in his chair. He’s inexcusably aroused. This efficient, ruthless man is his Eggsy. He’d seen his footage from Valentine’s bunker, but never got to _see_ Eggsy, only what Eggsy saw. To see his face, to see what he did when he realized it, when he knew that Chester had a hand in Harry’s ‘death’, god… this is the same Eggsy that’s soft and open, sweet and attentive. Coupled with _this—_ Eggsy’s despicably alluring.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extended break; I'm in the process of moving, so things are pretty busy. thanks to everyone who's still reading!


	10. Honey, I'm home

He’s out the door without gathering any of his things—even his Kingsman _glasses_ are left on the desk for god’s sake—going to the tube and spending the whole ride between willing it to somehow go faster and willing his semi down. It’s an odd hour, so the taxi cab doesn’t hit any traffic, thank god, because Harry’s about ready to run.

He does run the last bit—up the steps and through the door. He’d run further if Eggsy hadn’t beaten him to the punch, coming down the stairs with quick steps in nothing but his sleep clothes. Even with worried anger marring his face, Eggsy still exudes soft and yielding. Nothing and everything like the boy in the footage that said, all hard angles and conviction _I’d rather be with Harry_.

“Harry,” Eggsy stalks closer an accusing finger up and ready to lecture, “you had me worried, you shit, what the hell were you—”

“May I kiss you.”

Eggsy goes red, still advancing and looking like he’s struggling to follow the thread of the conversation while keeping hold of his anger, “the fuck kind of question is that.” And then he’s grabbing Harry at the shoulders and dragging him down. It’s too hard for a tick, but Harry’s so happy to finally— _finally—_ be kissing him that he hardly notices.

Eggsy kisses like he’s still angry, demanding tongue and harsh nips undercut by the way his hands tremble and how he arches into Harry when he brings an arm around his back. It’s wet and loud and so _good_ , but it doesn’t bring a rush of memories back (sue him, he’s a romantic at heart), so Harry needs to relearn every crevice. He slows the kiss, takes away his earlier frenzy and Eggsy’s worry, and deepens it instead, sucking on Eggsy’s tongue and exploring his mouth.

His cheeks don’t even have the faintest hint of rasp, his waist is slim under Harry’s hand, and his lips are softer than he could have imagined. When Harry nips at Eggsy’s lower lip, the moan that trips from him is enough to throw Harry back into a frenzy. But he won’t be so ruled by his desires. Harry takes great pains to channel it into thoroughness instead of quickness, he’s not a young boy after all, and Eggsy deserves much more than for him to act as such.

They fall into a slow, sensual kiss, that Eggsy drinks up as if parched. His whole body loses its tense lines and Harry fancies the thought that if he weren’t holding him around the waist, Eggsy’s knees would give.

Harry doesn’t pull back until he’s breathless. The stilted breath Eggsy takes in is more than worth the lightheadedness—or maybe is the _cause_ of the lightheadedness. The way Eggsy rolls onto his toes to chase his lips fills him with pleasure.

Eggsy looks almost lost, eyes half closes and hazy, lips a gorgeous pink and shiny from Harry’s tongue. He’s gorgeous. Harry can’t help kissing him again, like he should have the first time, like he should have been doing since he woke up in that hospital bed.

It’s carnal, dragging his tongue against Eggsy’s, the glide of it, the little shivers it sends through Eggsy, how warm it makes him feel. How he lived so long without this is a mystery, and to think he almost lost it due to his failing memory is a travesty. That they’re both here and Eggsy’ll still have him is a miracle, one Harry plans to make full use of.

Eggsy breaks the kiss and Harry understands firsthand Eggsy’s desire to chase his lips. His breath coming fast and red high on his cheeks, hands tensing and relaxing against Harry’s shoulders, “H-Harry?”

“Mmh?” Harry asks, pleasantly enough, though he’s quite distracted; Eggsy sleeps in a shirt and boxers, a fact Harry hasn’t been able to fully appreciate until this moment, where so much skin is on display and the heat of him is easy to feel through Harry’s suit. Harry nudges up the end of Eggsy’s shirt so he can rest his palm flat against Eggsy’s warm back. It’s amazing how small Eggsy feels under his hand when Harry know full well how much muscle hides under his soft skin.

“Wha—” Eggsy’s voice breaks when Harry lets his nails drag along his skin, “what’s going on?” The earlier anger and confidence falling away like it never existed.

“I think that’s obvious, my dear.” Harry scrapes the skin just a bit harder, imagining the red lines he’s leaving behind against pale skin, enjoying the shiver he gets for his efforts. Eggsy looks good like this, flushed cheeks and plush mouth open and waiting on a sound of pleasure or kiss. He’d look even better spread out on their bed, reacquainting their room with their love.

The thought makes him hyper aware of where they are now—in the foyer making out like teenagers who can’t even wait to get to the couch. And…yup, Harry can just see JB sleeping in the doorway to the living room, it’s a wonder he didn’t wake up when Harry came in. He certainly doesn’t want JB waking up _now_ and with each moment they’re testing their luck. Time to move themselves elsewhere.

“Come now Darling, jump for me.” Eggsy does, moving before his mind’s caught up. Harry catches him around the arse, encouraging Eggsy to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist wordlessly, and Eggsy complies like the good boy he is. Eggsy’s arms unclench at his shoulders and wrap around his neck, one hand absently petting Harry’s hair like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, looking down at Harry from his new vantage point with wide eyes. Harry starts them up the stairs, thankful he hasn’t lost too much muscle during his enforced downtime—he _very_ much likes that he can carry Eggsy like this, be able to take care of Eggsy fully and have Eggsy know that Harry will never let him down.

“Am I dreaming?” Eggsy blurts. When his mind catches up to his mouth, he goes beet red, looking so flustered and embarrassed Harry can’t help smiling, even though inside, he feels like his heart is breaking. Did Eggsy think they would never get back to this? That Harry’s memory loss spelt the end for _them_? Was he willing to be content with that, knowing that he’d never have all of Harry like he used to? It hurts Harry that Eggsy would settle—Eggsy deserves the stars, not a half-life with an old man. But if Eggsy’s willing to wait on Harry, then Harry’s certainly going to make sure he gives Eggsy everything in his power to give.

They’re at the top of the stairs, so Harry keeps walking forward until he has Eggsy between himself and the wall so he can give his full attention to a ravishing kiss. When he pulls back, Eggsy’s eyes are half lidded, faint glimmers of green around large pools of black, embarrassment gone and replaced with desire.

“No, my love, you are not.”

Eggsy’s breath catches in his throat, frozen for a moment before he’s pulling Harry into another kiss, arms and legs tightening around Harry, sending a wave of arousal through him. It’s messy, and rushed more like the teenagers Harry knows they’re not than the Kingsmen they profess to be, but so full of desire that it hinges on desperation. Harry hitches Eggsy further up against the wall and Eggsy makes a sound like he’s dying, cock jerking where it’s trapped between their bodies.

“Harry—Harry,” Eggsy says after he’s managed to pull away the smallest amount, air warm and wet between them, “take me to bed.”

Never has he been so quick to follow an order; finding his footing and carrying Eggsy to their room. Eggsy ducks his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, nipping him right before they pass the threshold. Harry gasps, almost stumbling forward. He can feel Eggsy’s smirk against his neck and he has half a mind to toss Eggsy on the bed to teach him a lesson. But the way Eggsy’s clinging, he doubts he’s be able to pry himself free for something so dramatic.

Harry sets Eggsy down on the bed and follows atop him, situated rather nicely in the vee of Eggsy’s legs when they fall open to accommodate, holding himself over the boy with a hand on either side of his head.  Eggsy smiles up at him, a demure thing, right before he yanks Harry down by his tie, pulling him into another kiss. Harry has no real complaints, he thinks he could spend the rest of eternity kissing Eggsy quite happily.

Eggsy’s slow with it, almost torturously so, and Harry has half a mind to worry to he’ll be the one begging when he has such plans to make Eggsy do so. It’s unfair that Eggsy has the advantage of memories Harry’s still waiting on. That just means he’ll have to try twice as hard, and when has Harry backed down from a challenge?

Eggsy throws a leg over Harry’s back, dragging Harry’s hips down against his. They both moan into each other’s mouths, muffled erotic sounds that raise the temperature in the room at least ten degrees. Feeling Eggsy’s erection, the physical proof of what Harry has inspired, is a heady thing. And with every little shift and squirm of Eggsy’s underneath him, a rush of drunk pleasure is sent to Harry’s own cock.

It’s too much, Harry wants to drag this out, have Eggsy begging for more and show him that Harry—even Harry missing memories of their time together—is worth the wait. So he settles more firmly over Eggsy, letting the boy take his weight and angles himself so Eggsy’s rutting against his hip instead of his groin—he needs some chance of surviving this, after all.

Harry pulls back as far as Eggsy’s limbs will allow so he can get a proper look. Before he can take in all of Eggsy, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, puffy lips, soft little sounds dropping from his lips at every exhale…he’s distracted by the mark on Eggsy’s neck. It’s just asking to be lavished with tongue and teeth.

So he does, dipping down to lick the side of Eggsy’s neck before worrying the skin between his teeth. Eggsy moans almost desperately, head tipping back and mouth falling open in slack jawed pleasure. His hand in Harry’s hair grips tight and Harry can’t stop from moaning into Eggsy’s sensitive skin.

God, does he want to feel all of him, no barriers between them. Harry slides his fingers along the bottom edge of Eggsy’s shit, lightly tracing the patch of bare skin above his boxers, moving his hand in slow circles that push Eggsy’s shirt higher with each pass. Its Harry’s turn to smirk against skin as Eggsy shivers against him, the light touch as enticing as it is infuriating.

On the fifth pass, Eggsy yanks Harry back by his hair, “Just take the damn thing off already,” he says, the irritation in his voice undercut by the strain of arousal and blush high on his cheeks. Before Harry can oblige, Eggsy’s yanking it off himself, throwing it across the room landing…frankly, Harry doesn’t give a damn, because any teasing quip dies in his throat as he drinks Eggsy in.

His mouth goes dry and waters all at once in a paradox Harry will care about after he’s traced every contour of Eggsy’s chest with his eyes…then his hands, then his mouth. He’s beautiful. The flush of arousal spreads down his chest, turning him a fetching shade of pink and making his hard nipples stand out for their darker color. Sparse chest hair draws a path down, down, to the strain in his pants. His defined muscles and compact frame belie his power and strength—traits that make him Kingsman material—no, that make him _Eggsy_.

“Beautiful.” It comes out awed, because he is. This gorgeous man, in mind and body, has chosen _him_.

Eggsy bucks underneath him in a sudden movement that makes them both groan. Eggsy looks halfway startled at his own body’s reaction, but Harry barely notices, too caught up in what it means, how responsive Eggsy is to his praise.

“You’ve been so good for me, darling boy,” Harry says sweetly, running a hand down Eggsy’s chest, feeling the muscle jump and quiver at his touch, drinking in the way Eggsy’s breath catches in his throat and he looks at Harry with such wide eyes, “everything I could ever dream of.”

“I— _oh_!” Eggsy’s cut off, arching into Harry’s hand as he pinches his nipple.

“Darling, I saw your footage from Valentine’s bunker and I could scarcely stop from coming in my office,” it gets harder to maintain a semblance of control when Eggsy starts bucking his hips in a jerky rhythm, breathy little whimpers falling from his lips on each thrust. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth worrying his bottom lip, hands on Harry’s suit collar, tensing and relaxing in time with his hips. It’s enough to make a lesser man come.

“You were amazing—resourceful, intelligent, capable—and then I remembered that you were _mine_.” He punctuates the word by scraping his nails down Eggsy’s chest, a touch too hard, gratified by the hitch in Eggsy’s rhythm and half caught keen.

“Come now, let me hear you, don’t deny me this,” he pets the skin he just abused. The swell of rightness bursting in his chest at the red marks that rise come from a base part of him that only Eggsy seems to conjure.

Eggsy’s whine turns into a low moan when Harry rocks back against him. His legs fall open, feet on the bed for leverage, and the press of his hips is agonizing, smooth rolls and twists gaining a desperate edge.

“Shit—shit shit _shitshitshit_ —” Eggsy gets out, each iteration rising in pitch. He shakes his head, a hard movement to the left before he’s moving his hands from Harry’s shoulders to his chest, pushing against him, pushing him away. The bewilderment that goes through him is ice, even though he knows— _knows_ —there must be a good reason. Harry pulls away, and it’s harder than he though and makes him feel cold and vulnerable, despite the fact that he’s fully dressed in a suit that is _actual armor_.

“Fuuuuuck,” Eggsy bites out, hips bucking up where Harry used to be—where Harry wants to be now. Eggsy takes a few deep breaths, controlled and forced, beautiful eyes still shit tight as he mentally calms.

“Eggsy,” If Harry were a man given to spells of drama, he’d be inclined to liken the breaking of his voice to the breaking of his heart at Eggsy’s hands pushing him away instead of bringing him close. He’s conjuring up an apology that lets Eggsy know he’ll never do whatever it was he did again, while also trying to make it seem as though he has an idea of what he did (he doesn’t. if there’s ever a time he’s wanted his missing memories, it’d be now) when Eggsy opens his eyes.

He’s still devastatingly beautiful, color still his on his cheeks and chest rising and falling with labored breaths, “Harry—you look like you’re about to _cry_. What’s wrong?”

“You pushed me away.”

Eggsy laughs, bright and clear and perfect, “you bloody drama queen,” he smiles up at Harry, brings a hand up to cup Harry’s cheek, “I don’t want to come in my pants like a bloody schoolboy, is all. You’re not making it easy.”

Harry turns into the touch, placing a kiss on Eggsy’s palm. When he turns back, Eggsy’s gaze is soft and overwhelmingly fond. Then he drags his eyes down the rest of Harry’s body and Harry can’t help preening, for all the good it does.

“…god, you’re still in your fuckin suit,” Eggsy says with an air that suggests that might not be an altogether bad thing.

His arousal, muted by the momentary misunderstanding, comes back like a tidal wave as it sinks in. Eggsy was so close to coming, so on edge from Harry—his words, his actions, _him_ —that he couldn’t take having Harry close to him for another moment if he wanted to control himself. It’s almost dizzying,

“Take this off, yeah?” Eggsy pulls at his suit jacket, looking all too much like Apollo reclined on the bed. Who is Harry to deny a god?

“My dear boy,” Harry gets off the bed, hands already working deftly on the buttons of his shirt, “I dare say I would do anything you ask of me.”

Eggsy flushes beet red, turning on his side to half cover his face with his arms, “yeah, well the feelings mutual,” he mumbles, flustered, looking up at Harry through his lashes, following Harry’s hands as he undresses. It’s gratifying, the way Eggsy takes in each new bit of skin as Harry drops his jacket, shirt and undershirt to the floor, as if he’s never seen him before and wants to remember every minute detail.

Harry lets his hand settle on his belt buckle, watches Eggsy watch him, watches his eyes go black and his tongue wet his red lips, “take off your pants, Darling.” God, his voice sounds like it’s been run over with sandpaper, gravelly tones that would be embarrassing but for the way Eggsy shivers.

“Only if you do too,” Eggsy answers, voice dry.

Harry undoes his belt, pulling his slacks and pants down in one go, unable to stop his smirk at Eggsy’s gasp. He steps out of them, toeing his socks and shoes off along the way, and kicks them aside. By the time he’s straightened, Eggsy’s naked.

He’s not ashamed to say his jaw drops a little—Eggsy’s still on his side, so Harry gets a view of his delicious ass and his cock, proud and flush. It gives a twitch under Harry’s gaze and it’s as if a switch flipped. Harry stalks forward, running his hand along Eggsy’s side as he guides him to lie back.

Their next kiss is all heat, anticipation laced with new urgency, the blood rushing in his ears making him blind to anything but Eggsy before him. Harry gathers Eggsy’s wrists in his hand, bringing them above his head against the sheets, putting the long lean lines of Eggsy’s body on display.

“Can you keep them there for me?” He asks, squeezing once to dispel the haze that’s fallen over Eggsy’s eyes.

“But I want to touch you,” Eggsy whines. But he keeps his hands where Harry put them even as Harry pulls away, following Harry’s whim so well.

“Later Eggsy, Darling, let me take care of you…indulge me in this.” He tacks on at Eggsy’s hesitant look and that seems enough to settle him. Harry vows to spoil Eggsy as much as he possibly can, care for him as much as he’s allowed—Eggsy deserves so much more than he’s willing to accept.

Eggsy licks his lips, eyes on Harry’s as he nods, a small thing made soft by his earlier hesitance. Looking at the expanse of skin before him, corded muscle and soft curves, half lidded eyes and shallow breath, Harry thinks, not for the first time—but never so viscerally—that he wants his memories back. He wants to know every crevice to lick, every patch of skin to bite that makes Eggsy go wild. He wants to know so he can use them now, bring Eggsy higher than ever before, make Eggsy feel bliss.

He’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way. He starts with nipping and sucking at Eggsy’s throat—bringing the blood to the surface, working on hickies appropriate for someone much younger, but with Eggsy, how can he not want to mark him up a bit, show the world that this gorgeous man chose _him_. A bite on Eggsy’s collarbone gets him a full bodied shudder and gasp. A pinch to his nipple gets a shout and a whimpered ‘ _again’_ that makes Harry’s head go fuzzy before complying.

Wet, sucking kisses down his naval cause quivering muscle and a laugh encased in anticipated exhale. Mindful of Eggsy’s earlier desire not to come ‘too soon’ (although Harry’s quite certain he could get his boy to come more than once in a night, he feels he would be _very_ dedicated to the task), he avoids his flush cock, instead nosing at the sensitive inside of Eggsy’s thigh and dragging gentle fingers around his hip. The small jerks of Eggsy’s pelvis do nothing but make him to go slower, dragging his tongue down the crease of Eggsy’s thigh with maddening (for them both) patience. The low groans and panting breaths intermixed with Harry’s own name more than enough incentive.

When Harry brushes a finger lightly against Eggsy’s perineum—that proves to be the breaking point. Eggsy’s legs come up and he hitches his thighs over Harry’s shoulder in a display of flexibility that gives birth to a whole slew of dirty thoughts. Harry looks up at Eggsy through the vee of his legs and past his proud cock, one eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t move my hands.” Eggsy says with breathless cheek, and if he’s still able to come up with excuses, Harry is not trying hard enough. Deciding to see just how flexible he is, Harry pushes up Eggsy’s body, brining Eggsy’s legs with him, and when they’re face to face, Eggsy’s thighs are still there, settled over his shoulders, Eggsy looking like it’s not even a strain.

“You could suck your own cock,” Harry marvels, watching a drop of precum fall from Eggsy’s dick onto his collarbone.

“Not quite,” Eggsy says, straining his neck forward while keeping his arms extended where Harry placed them, “I can get pretty close though.” Eggsy lets his thighs slide down Harry’s shoulders, so his knees are hitched over and the angle is more accessible for the kiss he’s clearly aiming for.

Harry kisses him because he must, this time a parody of what’s to come, devouring Eggsy in the best of ways. He drags his hand down Eggsy’s thigh to his ass, teasing the crack for a moment before pressing the tip of his finger against his hole. Eggsy bucks into the touch, and the groaning keen he lets out tells Harry that the time for teasing is over.  How he’s managed to last this long at all while Eggsy’s been under him is a mystery he’ll never solve.

Harry pulls away, going over to his bedside table for lube, “Turn over for me, Darling.” He implores, eyes keen on the mess of a drawer for his prize. After a moment of frustrated shuffling, he pulls it out and turns back to Eggsy.

Eggsy—who’s done as he asks and yet somehow exceeded all expectations. His arms—god damn him, Harry thinks through a rush of arousal—are still where Harry put them, his back is a sensual slope, chest on the sheets, ass raised high and inviting, and legs parted in invitation.

Harry wastes no time in accepting that invitation, “beautiful,” he says, settling behind Eggsy. The way Eggsy cants his hips to push himself further towards Harry in response is a beautiful thing that Harry will remember for the rest of his life, potential future head injuries be damned. He slicks up three fingers, circling Eggsy’s hole before dipping the tip of one in.

Eggsy sighs into it, relaxing back, begging without words for more. Harry pushes forward, finger slipping into velvety heat up to the second knuckle. It’s heady, how well Eggsy takes him in.

“Have you done this alone, Eggsy?” Harry asks, shallowly thrusting his finger, dipping a little deeper each time, “fingered yourself to thoughts of me, of what I can do to you, what I make you feel?”

Eggsy wails, “ _Harry_ —”

“Now, now, Love, that’s not an answer, yes or no.” He teases Eggsy’s rim with a second finger.

“Yes—yes sir!”

The spike of arousal that shoots through Harry at that one little word causes him to fumble, second finger slipping into Eggsy in an abrupt jerk. Eggsy throws his head back on a moan, arms twitching, drawing closer so he can push back against Harry’s hand, gain leverage.

“No moving.” Harry doesn’t know where the even voice that reminds Eggsy of his order comes from, because it certainly can’t be him, not when Eggsy’s writhing on his fingers and making absolutely filthy noises. Eggsy goes abruptly still at the reminder, hands flexing in the sheets, but keeping put.

“Good boy.”

The words open a floodgate in Eggsy. He’s babbling when he’s not giving voice to his pleasure through moans, gasps and grunts.

“Y _es_ —Harry! In the shower, when I used your soap because it smelled like you—the first night in your bed, I couldn’t stop myself—you were _alive_ and it felt so good I was so, so!” a hitch of breath as Harry scissors, marveling at Eggsy’s words and the feeling of him so tight around his fingers, “ _Ah_ —When _you_ were in the shower, god I thought you’d know for sure so I left quick—f _uck_ ”

“Mhh,” Harry spoke against Eggsy’s skin, eyes on how well Eggsy’s taking him, almost ready for a third finger now, “and was it good, Eggsy? Biting back your sounds so I wouldn’t hear a room away?”

“Never—never this good.” Eggsy grinds back. Harry nips his cheek, but slips in the third finger, rubbing against his walls, looking for that spot that would send Eggsy reeling.

“If I had heard you, Eggsy—if I had found you in my bed with a hand on your cock and fingers in your arse… Oh Eggsy, I wouldn’t have been able to help myself.”

Eggsy lets out a long keen—Harry’s found his prostate. He massages it, Eggsy thrashing under him as best he can.

“God—Harry— _Harry_ , fuck me already!”

“Ask nicely.”

Eggsy almost sobs, “Please! Fuck me, sir, please!”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat; Eggsy can take him apart much too easily. Harry pulls his fingers out, grabbing Eggsy’s hips, damp with sweat and lube, and flips him over. Eggsy looks debauched, mouth half open with swollen lips, dazed eyes, red marks visible on his neck and flush chest, a sheen of sweat and precum wetting his stomach and cock.

“I want to see you,” Harry says at the silent question, slicking up his cock with the hand that had so recently been in Eggsy. Eggsy looks awed, Harry thinks he must have the same expression. Eggsy’s arms twitch from where they’re above his head, an aborted movement towards Harry.

“You’d stay just like this, wouldn’t you?” Harry asks through gritted teeth as he guides the head of his cock into Eggsy—who seems beyond words, “just like I told you, you’d do it for me, wouldn’t you, Love?”

Eggsy nods, uncoordinated and boneless, little sounds of assent dropping from his mouth.

“You’re so good for me, Eggsy, so— _good_.” he grunts, getting all the way in. He stills so Eggsy can adjust, and so Harry doesn’t come in two thrusts—a very real threat with how Eggsy’s muscles flutter against him. “You can touch, Eggsy, you can touch me.”

Eggsy wastes no time, arms coming around Harry’s shoulders, one buried in Harry’s hair that’s dissolved into soft curls instead of his normal style, and the other vying for purchase along his back. He brings them flush, chest to chest, and rolls his hips, making Harry jerk forward. The both moan and Harry starts to move, shallow thrusts that Eggsy meets with slow undulations.

They’re maddening, and bring Harry closer to the edge than he thought possible with such little movement. Wanting to drive Eggsy just as high, he angles his thrusts different each time until he’s hit Eggsy’s prostate. Aiming for it and picking up the pace, Eggsy gives a punched out ‘ _ah!_ ’ on every thrust that goes straight to Harry’s cock.

Eggsy pulls Harry down hard by his hair into a kiss that quickly dissolves into moaning into each other’s mouths, too lost to coordinate a proper kiss. Harry drags a hand down Eggsy’s chest, pinching his nipple before petting his hip, grazing the base of Eggsy’s cock on every other thrust.

“Harry—Harry, I’m gonna—” Eggsy bites out, eyes squeezing shut.

“You’re going to come? Just like this, with me barely touching your cock?” Harry’s head spins, “you can do that for me?”

Eggsy nods, hands tightening on Harry as his hole does, sending Harry into a state, thrusting faster, harder, more dedicated to hitting Eggsy’s prostate on each pass.

“Then come Eggsy, come for me,” Harry says, eyes going back and forth between Eggsy’s cock and face, wishing he could see both at once, “you’re so good, you’re doing so well, so perfect darling boy.”

“God, Harry…”

“That’s it, Dearest,” Harry’s enthralled, Eggsy looks absolutely gorgeous, “you can do it”

Eggsy does, arching his back hard and coming with a wail like Harry’s killing him. Thick spirts of come paint their chests, and Harry fucks him through it, each thrust causing a delicious shiver.

“Perfect,” a grunt, “absolutely,” a hiss—Eggsy whimpers, going limps and soft, “ _perfect_.”

Harry comes like he’s drowning, clinging to Eggsy’s hip and shoulder as if they’re the only things keeping him from slipping under. They lay together, slowly gaining their breath back and coming down from the high. When Harry feels like his legs will support him if he stands, he slips out with a grunt from Eggsy. Placing a light kiss on Eggsy’s forehead, he gets up and goes to the bathroom for a warm washcloth.

When he comes back after giving himself a quick wipe down, Eggsy’s as he was left, sprawled and sated, looking halfway to sleep. Harry cleans him as best he can without an actual shower, Eggsy following him with his eyes. Another chaste kiss before Harry returns the cloth to the bathroom and then he’s maneuvering Eggsy (who isn’t inclined to help him) under the blankets before slipping in beside him. Finally settled, basking in each other’s presence, a scratching sound comes from behind the door.

Both men look to it before looking at each other, realization forming.

“I forgot to feed him when I got in.” Eggsy bites his lip.

“I suppose you want me to do it?”

The smile isn’t fully concealed by worrying his lips, and looking up shyly at Harry from beneath his lashes isn’t nearly as innocent looking when Harry knows it’s an unsubtle manipulation.

Harry sighs as he goes to stand, Eggsy’s mouth falling into a full grin, “you’re very lucky I love you.” And then he’s out the door, letting JB lead him excitedly down the stairs to his food bowl.

After the task is done, Harry returns to see Eggsy looking more awake than when he left, reaching out for him with arms extended like a smile child going for a teddy bear. Harry folds, slipping under the sheets and letting Eggsy draw him in.

“You mean it?” Eggsy asks, eyes fixed on the hand making random shapes on Harry’s chest. It takes Harry a moment to realize what Eggsy’s talking about, but when he does, the answer is easier than breathing.

“My dear, I thought it obvious. I love you very much.”

Eggsy looks up at him, light flush on his cheeks, a marvel after what they’ve so recently done, “good, that’s good.” he clears his throat, “I love you too.”

Harry decides not to say ‘I know’ instead kissing Eggsy sweetly before bringing them closer to settle in for sleep.


	11. And so it Goes

The next morning, Harry’s momentary surprised that he’s naked, Eggsy equally so, before the night comes back to him and he can’t help smiling and pulling his sleeping Eggsy just a bit closer. God he’s beautiful. And he chose _Harry_. Harry places a kiss on Eggsy’s forehead like he’s done every morning that Eggsy’s been with him, when it happens.

It comes back, every unaccounted for hour and interaction rushes back before Harry’s pulled away. He gasps against Eggsy’s sleep warm skin, pulling back to stare down at him. They weren’t—they were never—

Harry gets out of bed as quietly as he possibly can, eyes never straying from Eggsy’s face. He—but they…how could they not…? Shower. Get in the shower. Think about it there, not gaping over Eggsy like a dead fish.

He barely feels the pounding water against his back, he couldn’t say if it was hot or cold if a gun was held to his head this instant. Harry thinks he might be having an out of body experience as his hands go through the motion of washing but his mind is miles away. Eggsy and he, they’d never been together. He misconstrued circumstantial evidence instead of just asking _anyone_ outright. How could he have been so wrong? He’s a Kingsman for god’s sake, and yet he jumped to a wild conclusion. 

But was it? Loving Eggsy—that feeling is still strong, Harry knows he didn’t have his amnesiatic state to blame for it; he remembers now, all too well, the mental volleys he had with himself. About how he was so old, older even than Eggsy’s father for christ’s sake. How he’s seeing what he wants to see from Eggsy, twisting regard for a mentor into something impure. How as the senior agent, Eggsy might feel obliged, cornered into an unwanted relationship.

He never thought Eggsy—brilliant, beautiful, _young_ Eggsy—would want _him_. Apparently his head wound gave him the distance he needed to see Eggsy past his own infatuation. Because it’s been clear since he opened his eyes in that hospital bed that Eggsy loves him. Despite everything, Eggsy still loves him.

Speaking of _everything._ How they’d _left_ things—what Harry had _said_. It’s a wonder Eggsy can even stand to look at him. He has to know that he means so much more to Harry than a debt to his late father. If he doesn’t—Harry doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself if Eggsy truly believes he’s nothing more than a reminder of a mistake Harry made.

And _Chester_ had been the one to give Eggsy the dog test, hadn’t he? Harry had been too busy planning his next move in the global chess match against Valentine to do it. No wonder Eggsy hadn’t pulled the trigger, he was certainly right not to trust Chester, it turned out. And Harry has the strongest suspicion that if he watches the tape, it’s not going to fall in line with standard procedure for the final test—Chester had made it exceedingly clear on multiple occasions that he was not fond of the ‘rabble’ Harry was bringing to tryouts.

He certainly won’t be wanting for subjects to talk of with Dr. O’Connor. But what he needs now isn’t to process the rush of full memories from the church or the fight with Eggsy, what he needs it to figure out how to put into words how sorry he is. Sorry for the way he left things, for cutting off Eggsy apology and walking out the door, so full of himself, so sure that he’s be back. That he had time. If he’d know that he’d almost die out there under the hot Kentucky sun, he never would have wanted his last words to Eggsy to be born of frustration, helplessness and anger. He would never have wanted to leave Eggsy thinking he wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t perfect.

He’s certainly got some apologizing to do. At least now he can show Eggsy how much he means to Harry with slow kisses and sweet words. But that’s an issue of its own, isn’t it? How does his explain _this_? ‘Eggsy, dear boy, I thought we were already shagging, didn’t know that we’d never even kissed before I took you to bed’.

God and then he bloody said he loved him. Not that he regrets it—but as an offhand comment before getting JB his supper? It should have involved rose petals if nothing else, a love token maybe. Three course meal, followed by a walk in the park with hands held and sweet kisses under the stars. Something terribly romantic that would make Eggsy blush and bite his lip to stop a gleeful grin whenever he thought about it.

God, they haven’t even gone on a proper date. Well, that’s what happens when one is operating under the idea that they must have already been on several, already done the coy glances and lewd comments covered by a veneer of gentlemanly composure. Being realistic, taking in his own feelings and Eggsy’s, Harry had assumed that after a first date of dinner full of more sexual tension than food, they came back home for a shag that was needy and rough, unable to muster the patience for languid passion, but he’d still thought there was a _date_ before the sex. Unless take away in their kitchen and watching _Pretty Woman_ counts (it doesn’t), then he’s hardly been a gentleman.

They’ll just have to go out tonight. He’s sure _Chateau Rouge_ will have an open table for one of their most prolific customers. He’ll do it right, then do _Eggsy_ right, after. God, no wonder Eggsy had looked like every part of their night together was half forgotten—it wasn’t half forgotten, it was entirely new. He is a little pleased with himself for finding out some of Eggsy’s sensitive places already, he must admit.

Then he’ll have to give Eggsy a key to his house. It sounds silly, because really and truly it’s their house, but it’s never been official, not for Eggsy, and Harry needs it to be. Harry needs Eggsy to know that Harry will allow him into his life by choice just as he’d been willing to let him into his life by chance.

Because Eggsy will want to—surly he’ll want to stay with Harry, now that he’s got his memories back and knows fully what he’s doing. A tingling fear climbs up his spine. But what if he doesn’t? What if he decides to go back to his mother and sister? What if, for some reason, he decides that one night was enough and he’d like to find someone closer to his age, someone with less baggage and less connection with his father’s _death_ of all things.

Lord, this is why he’d never made a move on Eggsy with all his memories—even when he knows now that Eggsy loves him, heard the boy say it himself, his mind still fills with doubts, still comes up with reasons for Eggsy to laugh at the thought of being with Harry. It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. How Eggsy’s with him he has no idea. And _there_ he goes again. Throwing himself into a tizzy, getting worked up over nothing.

Mentally telling him to cut the crap doesn’t stop it though, and by the time Harry’s toweling off and slipping on his robe, he’s doing so at the pace of a snail, putting off going back to Eggsy, feeling a dread entirely disproportionate to the situation. Leaving the steaming bathroom—how long had he been in there?—to be faced with Eggsy, so young and open looking in sleep, is devastating. Harry is drawn to him, a magnetic pull that Harry doesn’t know how he dealt with before he was allowed to touch. He sits on the bed, running light fingers through Eggsy’s hair.

“Eggsy, dearest…” Harry whispers.

Eggsy half opens an eye, a drowsy smile falling on his face, waking slowly in a way their job hardly ever allows. Harry himself hasn’t woken slowly in ages.

“Harry”

“Hello Love,” he can’t resist dropping a kiss on Eggsy’s cheek, “I have some news. I’ve gotten my memories back.”

Eggsy pops up in an instant, eyes wide and bright, sheets falling to his waist, baring more skin that Harry can deal with without being thoroughly distracted, “that’s good, yeah?” Nervousness seeps into his words and Harry can’t help his small frown.

“I mean, we had the tiff, but I—you gotta know I’m sorry, Harry, I never meant those things and—”

“My dear boy, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Harry cups his face with one hand, letting his thumb caress his cheek, “you know you’re so much more than a debt to your father—you simply must.”

Eggsy pales, eyes falling away from Harry’s, “I mean, yeah, sure, you was doing what I was, just sayin shit—I called you a _freak_.”

“Eggsy, you mean so much to me,” Harry dips his head to catch Eggsy’s eye, dragging his gaze back, “when I look at you, I don’t see Lee’s son. I see _you_. I see an amazing boy who’d make his late father proud—who makes me proud every day.”

Eggsy’s cheeks heat under his palm, and the slow kiss he brings Eggsy into is sweet and loving, everything a first kiss should be, everything theirs wasn’t.

“One other thing, love.” Harry says, sheepish, when he pulls back, “I may have been operating under the assumption that we were in a committed relationship when I didn’t have my memories.”

Eggsy’s face is aflame and he pulls back with a jerk, looking almost mortified, “you— _what_?”

“Well, we live together, sleep in the same bed—”

“You said that was okay! It was a mistake the first night!”

“—well I don’t think you made that all together clear,” Harry can’t help responding, but knows he’s just as at fault as Eggsy, both assuming things and speaking around each other instead of to, “besides,” Harry gets back on track, “you know my passwords and favorite foods, and how I take my tea, you are obviously in love with me—”

Now Eggsy truly does look mortified, “oh my god. Oh my _god_. Stop talking.” He buries his face in his hands. Harry falls silent, watching Eggsy take deliberate breathes. He drops his hands, lifting his chin to look Harry determinedly in the eye, resolutely ignoring his embarrassment and red face.

“Well?!”

Harry’s bemused, “well what, Dearest?”

“Is this—are we—?” he stops short.

Apparently his fears were the same as Eggsy’s. That’s reassuring, if it does make him feel the fool for having them in the first place.

“Darling, the only reason I’d ever be parted from you is if you wanted it.”

Eggsy shakes his head, shuffling himself closer to Harry and looking at the older man expectantly. Harry pulls him into a hug, and nothing feels as right as this, Eggsy in his arms with the full knowledge of how he got to this point, of everything in his life that allowed him to meet this amazing young man. It doesn’t make him any more aware of what in the world he did to convince Eggsy to choose him, but he’s not going to question it, he just has to trust that Eggsy knows what he wants. And trusting Eggsy has never been a hardship.

“You owe me.” Eggsy mumbles into his shoulder, “I want them gold toed trainers.”

“Of course”

“And a leather Adidas jacket.”

“Anything”

“And you gotta get up if JB starts whining in the mornings.”

Harry gives him a kiss on the head that’s more smile than anything else.

 “And you have to say you love me a lot.”

Harry breaks. Warm fondness overflowing, begging to be released. Eggsy resolutely keeps his face turns into Harry’s chest like he hasn’t just broken Harry open.

“I love you.” He hugs tighter, “I love you, I love you, god, Eggsy, more than anything I love you.”

“Good.” if he sounds wet around the edges, neither comment. Harry drags Eggsy’s head back so he can kiss him properly, mumbling his love every time they part for breath. Eggsy’s smile ruins the kiss and Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to everyone who has kept with this and commented and kudo'd! it started out as a 'let's make an amnesia fic that isn't angst ridden' attempt (there are a lot of angst obsessed people on my tumblr dash) and ended with, well, this. I had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you've enjoyed this last chapter. thank you again and all the best.


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